


Textbook Felony

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: BDSM, Bastardization of Traditional Dom/Sub Concepts, Consent Issues, Conspiracy, High School AU, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Lies, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Games, Pet Play, Sticky Sex, Toys, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every decision made at a young age can feel as though the consequences will be dire. Unfortunately, sometimes they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginnings of a Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! If you've been on my Tumblr, you probably already know what this is all about, and if not, I wish you luck. This was a lot of fun for me to work on and I want to give an extra special thanks to all the contributors, anon or not, who have helped shape this into what it is. Enjoy~!

It was the kind of thing you hear about in the newspapers but never really expect to see happening in real life. Something neighbors and teachers alike refused to speak of but students grabbed onto and held for years and years after the fact, swapping muddled accounts taken from a friend of a friend of a friend. Like getting into a wreck because you were texting while driving, it was the sort of incident that everyone was convinced could never happen to them.

Blurr walked into his AP Literature class, eight minutes early, and sat down behind his desk as quietly as he could. Lunch was technically still running, and while he was perfectly within his rights to be here, it was still just the two of them in the room. Dr. Longarm was reading, as usual, behind his desk, occasionally sipping from a black mug just to the left of his book. Blurr would be loath to disturb him.

However, it did not appear to be up to him. Several seconds after he had seated himself, not even bothering to look busy, Longarm set the book down, removed his reading glasses, and smiled warmly across the room.

“You’re here early. Is the lunchroom not treating you well?”

The question was phrased mildly, a joke. Blurr tittered nervously, and then realized he sounded like he was responding to the question and only managed to laugh a little louder, until it broke off into the usual high pitched heaving that everyone rightfully found so unattractive. Cutting himself off just as suddenly, he straightened in his seat.

“No, sir. I mean, yes, I am here early, but not because I am in any kind of trouble or under any kind of fear of bullying or suchlike I mean I’m not exactly popular but nobody goes out of their way to bother me which I guess is actually more normal than all those high school movies make it sound isn’t it well I mean who knows if anything in those was ever the truth I guess you might since you’re a little older I mean not to say you’re OLD or anything I just think thatmaybeit’sabitmoreyourtimeorsomething?”

Oh, spark, oh Primus, he had really screwed up. That was genuinely the worst outcome of any scenario that didn’t involve him vomiting or bursting a circuit. Blurr wanted to slam his head into his desk but instead managed a shaky smile, as if that could somehow cover the wreck of a conversation starter he’d just spat fourth like bile.

Miraculously, Longarm did not instantly throw him from the room. Instead, he folded his hands over his book, brow creasing in the way people’s did when they didn’t quite understand him but wanted to.

“I…see. So you’re just here for the goodness of my company?”

Another jest, but it hit so close to home that it threw Blurr for a loop.

“Ah, uh, you could say that!”

The accompanying giggle was cringe-worthy, but Dr. Longarm simply laughed.

“You know you have always been on the straight and narrow, academically. Regardless of your reasons, you may feel free to eat here if you please.”

As if his laugh wasn’t enough, the words cut straight to Blurr’s laser core. He looked down at his notebook, afraid the shine of his swirling spark would be obvious through his optics, in absolute wonderment that it couldn’t be heard all the way to Kaon. He crossed his legs, tightly.

“Whu-well, that, that’s really nice of you, sir, I, I wouldn’t mind that at all, I mean, if you wouldn’t.”

Of course he wouldn’t! He just offered it to you in the first place! Unless he was just being kind, as teachers were supposed to be. Not that many of his coworkers took that to spark. That stuttering too. Could he be any more obvious?

“Of course I wouldn’t, Blurr!” He began to tuck his book away into his desk, blissfully unaware of his student’s uncomfortable squirm at the utterance of his name.

“Don’t let this get to your head, but you always have been one of my favorite-“

The door slammed open, Bumblebee pummeling a noogie into Bulkhead’s helm as he rode his shoulders through the molding. There was probably something to be commented on there, but before anyone else could speak a flood of students poured inside, Bulkhead’s appearance the breaking of the dam. As the secondary lunch bell shrieked, everyone settled in to their usual cackling, Dr. Longarm moving to write the theme of today’s lesson on the board.

In the midst of it all, Blurr clenched his hands in his lap and vibrated with mirth.

The lesson and his racing thoughts passed each other like ships in the night. Since the beginning of the year, he had been praising the powers that be for getting him into the accelerated learning program. It wasn’t’ because he had been particularly worried for his grades in the first place; rather, he was almost bored with the slowness of the school’s curriculum. Nothing moved at his pace. It was a wonder the other students weren’t all contending for valedictorian with how long each and every lesson gave them to prepare.

No, it was for the one reason everyone seemed to think impossible that he spent every waking minute outside AP Lit wishing he was back in that desk.

_Dr. Longarm._

The teacher no one else talked about. The kind, stout little bot who was only considered notable for his backbreaking tests. The only teacher who smiled at Blurr, allowed him the time to make his point when he spoke, who actually allowed him to speak at all. Longarm understood his often crowded speech. He made an effort to include him. He was interested in what he had to say.

And he may have just mentioned that Blurr was one of his favorite students.

The rest of the day was a whirl. Blurr had never been more thankful for track practice in his life. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he rushed into the shower room, stripping down from his hoodie and shoving it into his locker like so much garbage. Everyone was pretty used to his forceful exuberance and kept a safe distance as he tore his way up to the field, hopping from foot to foot while the others straggled along through the gym.

Wheeljack, the old shop class teacher and new co-gym teacher after a variety of complaints and hospital visits, laughed.

“If ya’ don’t slow down there every once and a while you’re gonna leave your teammates behind.”

Grabbing his heel and stretching each calf backwards several times, Blurr covered the slight jolt being dragged from his fantasies produced.

“Well it isn’t relay season sir so I don’t really think teamwork is the optimum objective right now I mean maybe if we were running as a group but we’re actually all competing with and against one another so isn’t my promptness a sign of improvement and a strength on my part?”

Sighing, the coach shook his head good humoredly.

“It’s more about having good cooperative skills, or something, isn’t it?”

Wrapping his hands around his toe clips, Blurr arched his spine straight.

“I don’t know, I mean it doesn’t really seem that way right now does it?”

Whatever coach Wheeljack thought was lost to the wind as the rest of the class finally caught up, moving in to mill about the starting points on the field. Already stretched and ready, Blurr jogged in place, jaw set firmly. They lined up. They hunched down. Wheeljack raised a hand, whistle to his lips.

Blurr shot off like a rocket, arms tight at his sides, fingers set. The first few steps, while he gained momentum, always threw him, as if his mind had burst from its physical casing. Then he broke the veil, white light highlighting the world around him like cobwebs, and he was whole again, blasting through the solid air around the course, outpacing and then overlapping his peers. For the first time in hours, thoughts of his teacher gave way to pure, windswept bliss.

If only all problem could be shunted away with such efficiency and ease. The warm up laps ceased, and the trial runs began. Blurr hardly had to focus on winning. Wheeljack congratulated him on once again reaching his top times, clapped a firm hand on his back and told him he’d go places if he could just keep his helm out of the clouds.

Unfortunately, his helm was nowhere near the clouds. It was down here on Cybertron, even lower down, if possible, nestled nice and neat between Dr. Longarm’s thighs…

Practice being an after school event, he was spared returning to class with a head full of berth sheets. With a quick chirp that he was going to shower at home which went largely ignored, Blurr dashed out of the locker room and into the open air. There was a late bus for practicing sports teams that wouldn’t be there for at least fifteen more minutes. It mattered not; Blurr had a lot of steam to burn off. Setting a brisk pace, he made his way down the block, towards the student community housing.

Half way there, a car slowed as it passed him, at first he ignored it, continuing to jog, but then the window rolled down and a brightly colored bot with a distinctively popped collar leaned out.

“Hey, you alright?”

The air of obvious confidence mingling with clear and genuine concern would have made the driver’s identity clear enough if Blurr didn’t already recognize him. Technically, he recognized everyone; it was a small town and most of them had been together since at least middle school. Regardless, he felt sudden nerves strike, as though his classmate would somehow instantaneously know what was sensuous thoughts were nipping at his heels.  Slowing his progress, just a little, Blurr acknowledged him with a nod.

“Yes. That’s a nice ride, Rodimus.”

It was largely a pleasantry, but the other bot swelled with pride for a moment, reaching a hand out the open window to stoke the cherry finish of the driver’s side door.

“Yeah. You need a ride? I mean, you live in the western housing block, right?”

The offer likely wouldn’t have been tempting even if he weren’t attempting to run off a heat wave so great it made his knees tremble. As it was, there was very little chance anything short of a kidnapping would get him into Rodimus’s vehicle, even if he did think the other’s intent was genuine.

“No thank you.”

His response was clipped, and he felt both thankful and embarrassed by the sharp tone it carried. He wanted Rodimus to leave him alone, not to think he was a jerk. Regardless of his worries, Rodimus hardly reacted.

“Whatever, dude. See ya' round.”

With that he was gone. Blurr wondered absently how fast he was going, and how fast he was legally supposed to be. Despite himself, he wondered if he could catch up if he put his mind to it.

The housing complex was as prim and silent when he arrived. The gate director flashed him a look as he passed through, but, as usual, said nothing. His own place was quiet and dark, an incredible relief from the dwindling summer heat outside. Throwing himself face down on the couch, Blurr sighed deeply, having once again failed to work off his charge by running alone. Now that he was home, at least he had some privacy.

Longarm had looked so good today. That is to say, he looked good every day, but today he had seemed especially handsome. Maybe that was the extra shine his compliments had glossed over Blurr’s optics, maybe he just had freshly pressed his suit; either way, the memory of his crisp slacks hugging against his ample thighs as he stalked in front of the white board had made Blurr shiver at his desk. Even now, his hips shifted, grinding a little against the cushion beneath him as he focused on those wide curves, the thick weight of his fingers the singular time he had ever initiated physical contact with Blurr, opening the door for the students after class and calling Blurr back a moment to discuss some poor handwriting, a hand on his shoulder, beckoning.

Not even attempting to think twice, Blurr arched up his aft, wriggling his shorts down to his knees and immediately moving in to stroke at his already hot crotch plate. Never in the short history of his life as an interface capable mech had he felt this much desperation. Since his enrollment in the class, he felt he had taken to self-stimulation twice as often, if not more, than he ever had before. In the beginning there had been doubts, nerves about his sanity, wanting a mech more than twice his age, but it was all fantasy, wasn’t it?

He splayed his fingers to dig equally into the seams of his hips, the fork of his thighs spreading wider to allow better room as his panels retracted, spike and valve already swollen and needy. His hands flew to them with a sloppy carelessness, leaving him held aloft by his shoulders alone. He kept his face lying between the cushions where he’d pushed it; darkness could only aid his imagination. Besides, there was something about the lack of sight, the muffled sounds that leaked between the couch and his audio receptors, something that made him tremble.

How hot would it be if Longarm blindfolded him? Of course, his teacher was far to gentile for that kind of thing, probably, but since this was a fake Longarm in his mind, one who didn’t have any reason not to touch him all over like he desired, exceptions could be made. Besides, it was so _good_ of an idea, his teacher making him go face down just like this, unable to see and hardly able to hear, not knowing where the next touch would come from or what it would do. That wasn’t exactly something he could replicate here, with his own two hands, but the thought itself was good enough for now.

He pumped his spike hard, smoothing the prefluid trickling down the slit across his shift, aided by the angle and the dripping state of his valve. He was too fast with himself sometimes, jamming a third finger inside before he was really ready, but the burn only made him hiss and writhe, imagining it was just two of Longarm’s fat digits instead. Biting the cushion, he whined a little, embarrassed by the noise even though he was alone.

It would be so good to be touched this way by his teacher. He could almost feel his serene gaze now, boring into his spine, watching as he spread himself open like a slut, hips bucking into his hands because he couldn’t bear the thought of going slower, even at the risk of being uncoordinated and ungainly. Longarm’s warm hands holding him, petting him intimately, the round push of his great stomach against Blurr’s back as he leaned in to press hard kisses along his neck line.

It didn’t take long for Blurr to overload. It never did, but it would be a blatant lie to say Longarm’s face didn’t push him over every time. His hips shuddered, low moan losing itself in the couch, and he was done. The cushions were probably disgusting, and in lieu of collapsing back down in his own mess, Blurr opted to roll off the side of the couch with a hard thud.

Not the greatest idea he’d ever had, but at least now he didn’t have to clean his hoodie. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, finding patterns in the mottled plaster as the spots cleared from his vision. What a tangle. He really needed to take a shower. It was only Wednesday and he had a short essay on the color green for Blitzwing due the next day. As if that even made sense.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he shimmied his pants the rest of the way down, using his wrists so as to keep the mess from his shameful masturbation off his track uniform. It took a stupidly long amount of time, his enormous, boot-like feet getting in the way as usual.

In the bathroom, he tried to avoid looking further south than his waist in the mirror. He wasn’t particularly embarrassed by the action itself, but getting off to Longarm still left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. It’d be one thing if he was just an older mech; at least then Blurr could entertain the thought of getting to the legal age he was so eagerly approaching before making his move. As it was, there was very little chance Longarm would ever be in a position to accept his advances. It was silly to assume his crush would last that long anyways, but the sliver of hope it would have brought him could at least prevent the wretchedly empty feeling he was filled with without.

Trying to turn his thoughts to other things as he soaped up his hands, he worked his way back over the day. First period he had narrowly avoided getting some of the eggs Wreck-Gar was slinging at his newest sculptural creation all over his hoodie, having walked in the door at exactly the wrong moment. Blitzwing had been in one of his moods and was shrieking with delight, assisting through the doorway of their joint office, and as amusing as it had been, Blurr was mortified by the idea of having to spend the rest of the day in his tank top alone. He would have had no way to disguise the fidgets and shivers English tended to produce.

The hoodie he had so carefully avoided soiling now. He flicked water off his hands, turning to finally wipe down his crotch a little as he turned on the shower head. It was just one of the school’s generic sports sweaters, the kind the jocks wore on a daily basis, but it was dear to him if only as a remnant of his freshman year track experience. Rodimus had been trying out basically every sport available, before his neighbor-turned-mentor-figure and their new principal Magnus had gotten him into the extracurricular archery course at the local college, and he was looking like he was a shoe in. Blurr had stepped up to the line and beaten his smug little pants off.

Their interaction today had been unexpected. They had been in the same class since seventh grade, but they had never talked much outside of pleasantries and group projects. Rodimus was rambunctious and smart, smarter than most of the other kids in their grade seemed to recognize over his glossy polished charm, and Blurr liked him. It was never a chore to do double reports with him. A lot of his bad reputation likely came from his connection to the principal. He was taken in in elementary school, as the gossip went, shortly after being recognized as a gifted student. Magnus had seen something in him and legally signed up as the primary caregiver, a treat not many in their area were entitled to. It certainly was natural to be jealous of someone who had that extra safety net to fall back on, but the real envy lay in the political sway and generous allowance he was given outside of the government mandated salary every student received.

He was always coming to school with new things. If he were really ashamed, Blurr supposed, he could try to hide his affluence a little more. Even that car he had been driving today was new, although he was only just of age for that sort of thing. Nice too, a real hot rod. His jacket was some letterman achievement newly acquired, and his jeans were the type with the flashy tag sewn into the back just to let everyone know they were expensive, and his backpack-

Blurr froze.

His backpack. He had been so eager to get home after track that he had completely forgotten it.

Everything exploded into motion. Blurr slammed the faucet off, jogging out of the room and nearly tripping over his discarded pants before remembering _he really needed to put them back on_ , and then he was out the door, down the block, hoping to Primus there was still some teacher or janitor skulking about the halls because his grades really depended on actually having done the work. What a novel concept.

The voyage back to Cybertron Normal High School was less than memorable, split into little segments in his mind of each stop, no matter how small, he was forced to make in his journey, each crosswalk, each ditch. A combination parking lot and bus lane that bled into the myriad of fields surrounds the school on all sides created a patch of baldness across the landscape, the dun walls of the house of education rising up from the horizon like a video game castle.

The gate to the front was already closed and chained, and while he could see that the teacher’s lot was still open he hardly had time to run all the way around. Luckily, the perimeter fencing was junk and he was easily able to locate a tear in the chicken wire and push his way through. From there it was just a dusty sprint to the front door and, hopefully, salvation.

He had expected the doors to be locked, but tried them anyways just to be sure. He could hardly see through the powdery glass of the windows, but it was clear enough that no one was immediately inside. He’d just have to make an extra loud racket then.

His fist only met the door on every other pound, so rapidly that a little bit of the red paint began to flake off, and it only took a few kliks (an eternity) for someone to notice. A dark form advanced on the door, but Blurr didn’t see it until a silhouette was suddenly blocking all the florescent light and the handle was pushing out into his hands.

“Oh thank Primus I’m sorry if I’m interrupting tutoring or something but I forgot my bag in the locker room and I really needed to make sure it didn’t get lost or stolen or, or..”

He trailed off, jaw tightening into a dry swallow as Dr. Longarm poked his head out from the dull hallway.

“Well hello, Blurr!”

Stammering for a moment, Blurr took a step back instinctively, as if their proximity would somehow alert his teacher to the fact that, not but kliks before, he had been face down on his couch at home, knuckle deep to thoughts of that very smile. Needless to say it didn’t, and Longarm merely stepped back and held the door wider.

“You said you’re looking for something?”

Stepping out of his daze, Blurr fidgeted uncomfortably, skirting around him and into the building.

“Uh, yeah, my, uhm, my backpack, but I mean it’s nothing you have to worry about sir, I mean doctor Lo-Luh, it isn’t in your side of the building even it’s just in the, in the gym.”

He was making a fool of himself but he couldn’t stop. Even so, Longarm seemed amused.

“I’m sorry Blurr, but I’m afraid I cannot allow you to go alone.”

Ushering him further inside, Longarm shut the door quietly.

“There is a rule against students travelling the school unsupervised after hours. I know you’re a good student, but I would rather not risk the talking to I’d get if I broke the code for you.”

Blurr could feel his fans sputtering all over again, only just muffled by the thick material of his hoodie. Hoping his knees weren’t shaking too noticeably, he nodded.

“Oh, alright, I mean that’s fine, perfectly fine, I, I love your company anyhow, I mean not, not to sound like I’m sucking up to you or anything!”

They started down the empty corridors, Blurr’s voice echoing off the eerily empty walls.

“I actually really enjoy being with you sir, I mean, in your class, I love your class, I really do, I think language is a really important subject and kids should have more respect for it and apart from that you’re such a good teacher and a real pl-pleasure to be around!”

It was actually shocking how little was going on at this time of day. Sure, the sports practices were all done, but private tutoring and personal practice sometimes ran on into the night. Wasn’t there at least some other frustrated teacher mulling over a grade book around?

“I guess that sounds inappropriate I mean teachers aren’t like friends with students that would be, that would be weird wouldn’t it, ha-ha, but I mean I just think you’re really smart and all and I know teachers have to be but like extra good at, at what you do and-!”

“Blurr.”

He crossed his arms as if to trap the words in his chest.

“Sorry sir, was I rambling? I tend to do that when I’m…”

Longarm’s optics dimmed behind his smile, as though he were vaguely concerned or pitying, and Blurr bit his own tongue as admonishment.

“Is this the locker room you meant? You are in track, correct?”

He hadn’t even realized they’d stopped. Subdued by yet another wave of shame, Blurr nodded quickly, lips sealed, and rushed to hold the door. The subtle heat of Longarm’s hefty shape as he passed by was enough to make Blurr giddy with nerves all over again. He rushed around him as soon as the door closed, hoping there weren’t left over underpants or something even worse lying around. He would never be so careless with his own possessions but the second hand embarrassment was enough.

His worry was, as usual, for naught. The room was as filthy as ever, but not with the leftover debris of his fellow classmates. There, clean and untouched in the corner, sat his bag, the salty blue straps arranged against one another as if it had been waiting for him.

“A-ah!”

He scampered around the benches to his locker. The imposing presence of his teacher momentarily forgotten, he immediately opened it and began a roster of its contents, on the off chance that its seemingly undisturbed tilt was the result of a very careful delinquent. It would not be the first time.

His rummaging halted. He leaned back up against the locker. It was all there, all of it, especially his very soon to be due essay. Praise the Allspark. Petty theft was the underground lifeblood of small schools and he was very not willing to contribute. It appeared, however, that his track mates were clean.

“Find everything?”

Longarm was close. Extremely close. Blurr almost dropped his bag.

“Oh, I ah, sir, yes!”

Clutching the blue canvas to his breast, he smiled shakily. Longarm was right in front of him, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. Blurr hadn’t even heard him move.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to be in any kind of trouble after all this.”

“Ah,” Blurr shifted, “thank you for helping me out, sir.”

Longarm’s arm wrapped around his shoulder unexpectedly and Blurr felt his fans putter to life.

“It’s no trouble at all. As I said, or tried to say earlier, you are my favorite student.”

He squeezed Blurr’ shoulders a little bit and Blurr could not suppress his shiver.

“Don’t go spreading that around, though. That would not be good for me.”

“Of course I won’t, sir.”

This was the nearest he had ever gotten to his teacher. He could feel Longarm’s chest rise and fall beside him, the rough texture of his jacket itchy against Blurr’s hand. He was just taller than Longarm, which made averting his gaze all the more difficult, and he knew he probably should because the sight of his smooth facial features in the high definition of closeness was surely making his own optics glaze, his lips parting just barely as a cool wash of breath tickled his neck, but he simply couldn’t tear himself away.

And Longarm noticed.

“Perhaps there is something else you need before departing?”

Blurr heated, a bug under a spyglass.

“I, I don’t, I don’t think so, sir…”

Still holding him, Longarm turned to face him head on. The bulk of his weight pressed firmly against Blurr’s waist, pushing him back against the lockers. A padlock was poking painfully against his spine, but he could hardly breathe, much less worry about that, the cool metal heating quickly at his touch.

“Are you sure, Blurr? Because you seem to be in need, and I would hate to turn you away when you are asking for help so openly.”

The dialogue was obviously meant to be implicative of something more, and Blurr’s processor nearly melted at the tone. It was too sudden, too confusing. He couldn’t really mean what he thought he meant.

“I…I…”

Longarm leaned in until their lips were practically brushing.

“Just tell me what it is you need, Blurr, and I’m sure I would be happy to oblige.”

In retrospect, perhaps, things would have been avoidable. Blurr could have turned his head to the side, laughed it off, and gone home alone. Life would have continued its natural course, school, home, college; Blurr would have continued worrying about the normal things, gone to the normal parties, graduated with a normal degree.

Blurr was not blessed with such insight, though, and all he knew was the now. And right now, Longarm’s heavily lidded optics were staring up into his, his other hand creeping up to cup Blurr’s waist and pull it flush against his own, and Blurr simply could not fight the future.

He muttered something that was probably meant to be an apology but it was lost inside the kiss he had thrown himself into. Longarm’s arms tightened immediately, and Blurr shoved his hands up between them, clutching the dull tweed of his jacket, trying to get as close as was physically possible. The backpack dropped, spilling its colorful entrails across the sticky linoleum. His spark pulsed so hard he through it may break straight through the wiring of his chest, explode gorily between them in a fantastically overdone symbol of his mounting adoration.

Longarm’s lips were cold and hard, but smooth, perfectly shaped, perfectly handled, moving against him like they were designed to fit together. Or perhaps that too was the romanticism of youth. Either way Blurr was so star struck he felt his feet might slip out from beneath him.

“Ah, so this is it?” whispered Longarm against his receptor, kissing the spot a moment later as Blurr cuddled against him, and he slid a hand right down the front of Blurr’s shorts.

His legs did give out then, and even with both of their desperate holds it sent him straight to the floor, legs splayed out as his sides as he tried to recover and found himself wholly unable. Without thinking, he clapped a hand over his mouth, awash with mortification.

“Sir I-I-I-I’m so sorry! I, I tripped and, uh…”

Longarm held an innocent hand down, offering assistance.

“That’s alright. It’s understandable.”

The swath of Blurr’s panel his fingers had grazed burned.

Looking down at the floor, he shifted his feet, the reality of what they’d done sinking in. it was terrifying, really. He had thrown himself out there at his, his teacher, of all people, his grown adult teacher and his teacher had accepted and returned with full force, and still he was uncomfortably hot because this very naughty, very nasty thing that should not be had just happened and he wanted it to happen again and again and again-

“Blurr?”

A hand cupped his face, forcing him to again look into Longarm’s optics.

“Yes, sir?”

His lip trembled. Longarm’s thumb pet against the bio lighting on his cheek and he leaned into the touch.

“How about I give you a ride home?”

He needed to collect his things. He had an essay to finish. He hadn’t taken his shower. The light outside was dimming.

“Yes please.”


	2. Too Much Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast times and faster thoughts collide in the worst possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry things are moving at such an unsteady pace, but I gotta keep up with my other obligations, ya'know? Enjoy!

Blurr could not stop himself from stealing glances, but every time his gaze lingered his teacher would return the stare with a small smile and it made his spark tremble until he was sure it would burst. Longarm’s car was small, though not cramped, and it made it impossible to hide his heat, his nerves. Hands in his lap, Blurr hunched his shoulders and tried not to look anywhere but his boots.

It was growing dark, and the windows were heavily tinted. It was unlikely anyone would see them. Yet he could not stop worrying. He was almost grateful for it, though, the tense pangs of fear at least distracting him from what he had just agreed to.

Because that was just too much.

He nearly jumped out of his plating when Longarm’s hand caressed his knee. They were at a red light; the glow shone in through the dim windshield to illuminate their faces eerily. Longarm had never looked more handsome.

“Blurr, relax.”

He squeezed lightly and Blurr shivered. Shoving his twiddling fingers into his hoodie, he nodded, frantic.

“I, I, I am sir, I’m fine.”

He wasn’t, but he didn’t want Longarm to regret this. He didn’t want him to stop. He certainly didn’t want him to remove those wonderfully cool fingers from his leg, but the moment the light changed they were back on the wheel. His street turn off was coming up. Longarm didn’t really expect to pass the security booth and not arouse suspicion, did he?

When they neared the complex, however, they did not slow or move to turn. Afraid of being a backseat driver, Blurr said nothing until they had passed the entrance entirely.

“Dr. Longarm, sir? We, we passed, um, my house…”

“I am aware, Blurr,” Longarm laughed quietly, “but thank you.”

This only made him more nervous, however, and he fidgeted until he felt his plating might disassemble from tension alone.

“I, I don’t mean to keep asking all these questions because I know it’s annoying and the last thing I want to do, the very last thing, is to annoy you but I, uhm, where are we going, sir?”

“Not far,” said Longarm airily, “I’ll return you home soon, do not fret.”

Another thrill of cold exhilaration took hold of Blurr’s circuits and he pressed his thighs together tightly. It was a warm evening, but the darkness brought a chill that swept through the vents and onto his bare thighs and he felt suddenly self-conscious.

Longarm pulled down a street Blurr had never paid much mind to before, high walls from the surrounding gated communes blocking the city lights on either side. When they had reached a significantly deep point between them, he killed the engine, headlamps cutting out and leaving them in near total shadow. Blurr shrank in on himself.

“Blurr.”

Turning to him, his teachers lips again swept light across his cheek.

“Do you want this?”

He leaned over the gear shaft, seatbelt already undone, though Blurr had not heard it snap back. The rough material of his suit tickled Blurr’s arms as he hugged himself tightly to his broad chest, pressing into the touch.

“Oh, yes, yes please sir, I do-!”

In the darkness he could only see the low glow of Longarm’s optics and the crook of his smile beneath it. The bio lighting on his own cheeks flared in embarrassment, still in shock over how quickly things were developing. Was this experience even real, or was he still on his couch, face deep in the cushions as he begged the universe for a break?

His own seatbelt was removed, Longarm’s thick digits passing straight beyond the clasp to the hem of Blurr’s sweater and slipping beneath it. They were even colder than his lips and Blurr jumped, pressing into the touch and away at the same time, sensory network bright with data. All Longarm did was explore, gentle probing, sweet touches, but it was enough to nearly melt Blurr’s nodes together, legs shaking hard as he hid his face in his teacher’s neck.

“I, I’m-!”

“Shh.”

Longarm kissed him again, rich and yet soft, a calming gesture that sent his processor into miniature reboot. It was a good thing too, because the next moment he had found the seams of Blurr’s upper chest and was teasing them with terrifying skill and had he been in his right mind Blurr might have questioned his logic.

As it was, he fell back against the car seat, staring down at the wriggling lump beneath his clothing with dumb shock as a high moan slipped, shocked, from his vocalizer. And Longarm’s other hand, the one not currently stirring his sensors, was on his leg again, but higher this time, stroking soothingly back and forth along his thigh, creeping closer and closer to the rumpled edge of his track shorts with each pass.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Longarm’s suit was so complicated at this angle, and he wasn’t even sure if he should be removing it, where to put it if he did. Instead he just grabbed the seat and squeezed, whining.

“Sir!”

“You’re alright.”

Longarm’s fingers teased up the first inch of his shorts.

“You’re okay.”

The hands came together again at his waistband, lightly tugging. Shuttering his optics, Blurr lifted his hips. There was a low flying jet overhead; he could hear the quiet scream of the engines against the cool evening echo down through the city. His shorts inched lower. He felt as though his own engines were the ones blasting loud in the night, his own fans turning hard through the air as bit by bit he was exposed. Longarm was breathing softly by his receptor, licking his lips.

His shorts came down around his knees. Squeezing the seat, Blurr shook them down further, tugging one foot from within the leg so he could spread his thighs wider. It was a bold move but Longarm hardly gave him time to regret it, returning immediately to his thighs, petting the thick blue stripes where his legs met his pelvic span, the seams there flexing at his touch.

“Blurr.”

Finally, painfully slowly, he cupped Blurr’s groin, palm grinding roughly into the panels. Whining like an animal, Blurr immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, turning away in shame as he burned at the touch. Longarm made a soft noise, one Blurr couldn’t quite make out, and then pushed harder against him, forefinger and thumb tracing his interface paneling’s seam around the edge perfectly.

“Let me in, Blurr.”

“Okay, okay, oh-o-okay.”

He was panicking, but he didn’t want it to stop. He backed himself further into the corner, the hook of his discarded seatbelt digging painfully into his spine. He opened the first cover and Longarm vented loudly, pleased.

“This is, this is just so sudden,” Blurr babbled, bracing himself against the door.

“Is it, though?”

Longarm hummed quietly, tracing a singular digit through the viscous sheen of lubricant oozing from his secondary panel. Blurr shuddered.

“S-sir?”

Optics flickering up to meet Blurr’s, just briefly, Longarm smiled.

“You’ve been in my class nearly two months and I don’t believe you have spent a single day without eyeing me. It seems to me that you’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Blurr heated all over again, shame only heightening his awareness of the way he was barely remaining covered, the slick flash of fluid between his legs. Longarm’s hand in the middle of it all. He was so good at this, so smooth and gentle but demanding all at once; Blurr was overwhelmed.

“I…I…”

His panel parted, baring his valve to the dim glow of Longarm’s optics reflecting across the dash.

“Oh, Blurr…” said Longarm, the moment fixed and surreal, crowned by darkness. Longarm was kissing his neck again, thanking him for complying. Blurr shuddered. A dog was barking somewhere in the distance. Longarm’s fingers pulled at the lips of his valve, tender touches that burst color across his visual feed. The wind whistled above the alley. Longarm circled his external node, whispering into his receptor. Garbage rustled outside. Blurr’s hand gripped the door handle, desperate for purchase.

“Look at me.”

Blurr couldn’t, he just couldn’t, but a firm hand found his chin and forced him to. He had never known Longarm to be dominant like this, and it could not have been met with more flushed desire than he gave it. His valve was leaking all over Longarm’s clean seat, his shorts still bunched messily around one ankle, his hoodie crumpled up beneath his armpits, and he hadn’t showered in two days. He was young, he was a mess.

He was in rapture.

When his optics met Longarm’s the fingers pushed inside.

Blurr shrieked. He didn’t mean to, but he did; a brash, ugly noise that filled the entire vehicle, legs closing hard around Longarm’s hand. He expected to be rejected, the brazen display of his fear and inexperience repellent to even himself, but instead Longarm surged against him, ramming his fingers in hard and hooking them, holding Blurr still against him.

The sensation tore the air from Blurr’s system. He tried to rear back away from it, too much at once, but he was already pressed against his seat and Longarm was right there in front of him, swinging a leg over the console to better access him as he squirmed. His optics were intense and Blurr shrank away from them, feeling trapped.

“Be still, Blurr. I’ve got you.”

“Oh sir, oh doc-doctor Longarm,” Blurr squeezed his thighs as the servos inside him wriggled, “oh please, please please keep going sir-!”

Longarm pressed even closer, somehow managing to work up a slow thrusting rhythm despite the legs crushing his wrist.

“You want this, but you’re scared. I understand that.”

Blurr quailed.

“I am much older than you. I am your teacher. We both stand to lose much over something like this.”

The thought sent another thrill of fire through his spark.

“And yet here we are, in a car in a back alley, with my fingers shoved inside you, and you’re dripping for me.”

He breathed into Blurr’s receptor, almost a laugh.

“You know, I was watching you too. You thought you were being discreet when you looked at me, but I saw. I noticed. And I looked back.”

He hummed, as if contentedly amused by something.

“At first I will admit I wrote it off as a silly crush, a student with an active imagination, but you are so much more than that, Blurr, aren’t you? Intelligent, skilled. You’re going places, Blurr, fast.”

Blurr rocked back against the seat as Longarm’s pace increased, fumbling for words and coming up with only moans. The car must be moving, he knew, mimicking his motions against the seat. Dreamlike, Longarm enveloped him.

“You really are my favorite student.”

Blurr came, intensely, seizing hard into Longarm’s grasp. He was wet, so wet, and it must be everywhere now, pooling hot against his aft, and Longarm kept pushing and pushing, until he was so overstimulated he thought his circuits would fry.

But they didn’t. Their movements slowed, then stilled, Longarm withdrawing and reaching into the glove compartment for a kerchief. Sagging against the sticky seat, Blurr vented loudly, joy and fear and sex exhausting him. He felt so small in the world, lost.

“You did make a mess, now, didn’t you?”

The question was so light humored that it caught Blurr off guard. Dazed, he looked over just in time to catch himself as his leg was lifted, the soft cloth massaging up the inside of his thigh.

“I-ohmygoshyoudon’thavetodothatsir!”

“Shh,” Longarm crooned, “I want to. You need to get cleaned up, after all.”

Shifting to allow him easier access, Blurr pushed his head down into the comforting shelter of his hoodie, mortified.

“It’s part of my running, sir, I mean my speed, I, I need extra lubrication in my legs for the friction and, umm, it also extends down, down there so I make a bit of a mess and I’m really sorry about your car!”

Chuckling, Longarm moved on to his other leg.

“It’s not a problem, Blurr, really. I’ve cleaned a few stains out of upholstery in my day. Besides, I rather liked your eccentricity.”

Blurr laughed. He had just been fingered by his teacher in a dark alleyway, in a car, and now they were bantering about it. Blurr laughed harder, drenched in dread.

“Pull your shorts back on, Blurr. I’m taking you home now.”

He hardly remembered the drive. Suddenly they were at the guard station, the elderly bot in the booth peering suspiciously through the window. Longarm flashed her a smile, showed his ID card. Told her something about late night study sessions and danger on the dark streets. She nodded him through. Blurr picked at the fabric of his shorts.

They had really done this. He had really just allowed his teacher to drive him into a back alley and…Blurr pressed his face to the window. This was so wrong, and so illegal, and his spark was going to burst if he got any happier because it was already making him light headed with each frantic palpitation. Longarm, his handsome, intelligent, kind teacher wanted him. Longarm was willing to risk his job, his life, even, for him. Because Blurr was special, he had said. Blurr was worth it.

“Blurr?”

Snapped from his thoughts, he flailed a moment before turning to smile shyly at his teacher.

“Y-yeah?”

With kind concern, Longarm returned the look.

“You did not tell me which complex you live in. Where shall I drop you?”

“Ah.”

Blurr fumbled, processor shorting out a minute.

“I live in 65E.”

The pulled through the neighborhood slowly, the number designations on the curb faint in the darkness. Blurr watched Longarm’s face harden in concentration as he tried to make them out, hot all over again at the strength he exuded. And his fingers had been so thick…

“Here we are.”

He turned to Blurr, all softness and joy. Blurr’s spark skipped a turn.

“Thank you, sir. For, um,” he brushed some dust from his cheek, turning his optics down demurely, “everything.”

Longarm leaned in close, a hand straying to the black expanse of Blurr’s leg once more. Blurr stiffened, fans stalling.

“You are most welcome.”

He pat Blurr’s thigh once and then unlocked the door. Dazed, Blurr stumbled out into the night, turning around every few steps to wave at the car, tripping over his own feet as he ascended the lawn. He could just barely make out Longarm’s glow past the tinted window. The car didn’t leave until he had his door open, scraping the key against the already battered lock several times before hitting home. The light was still on in the bathroom from earlier that day. It felt like it had been years since he’d been home.

Blurr swayed through the dark living room like a zombie, hardly noticing the lingering smell of sex on his couch cushions. Blindly, he pushed his way into the shower, only just remembering to strip from his clothing before turning the tap. His thighs still itched and clung grossly to his underpants, but he barely spared it a grimace. It was the remnants of his connection with Dr. Longarm, however brief. Disgusting as it was, he was almost sad to see the stains go.

The clock on the wall read nine fifteen. Normally he’d still be high as a kite but at the moment his frame could not have felt heavier. Thinking could wait 'til morning; he was fast and it was all scrap parts anyways. Blitzwing could go jump in a lake. Blurr had other priorities.

Such as swimming between his comforter and mattress. He barely had the energy to dig a suitable pair of briefs from his bureau before collapsing into the sheets, cocooning himself away from everything but his thoughts and warmth. Not that there was much in his head at this point outside Longarm’s slacks.

It was an odd night’s sleep. While he was sure he wasn’t dreaming, there were several times in the night when he seemed to wake, feeling profoundly confused but not sure why. Each time seemed to be shorter than the last, mere snippets of memory retained in his hard drive the morning after. Seconds spent staring up into the darkness and unable to discern the reason behind it, to look at the clock one second and find it was cycles later than the last moment he’d checked.

When the alarm went off, he hardly felt he’d slept at all. This was not unusual, but that morning it was especially so. He rolled to one side, then the other, groaning quietly. Somehow, the feeling was not unpleasant, as if he’d merely napped for a few minutes after a good jog. Slowly, brightly, he rose to greet the day.

The day in which his essay was due.

He shot straight out of bed, tripping up in his sheets but managing to avoid actually falling by shaking his leg so wildly the bedding itself was ripped from its fold. New socks, new shirt, same shorts as the day before. He had to have breakfast, he knew that, but the process seemed to consume so much of his dwindling time, as if the few quick klik it took for him to dispense himself a small bowl of cereal was enough to drown him in boredom. Eating it was even worse. Digestion had never been such a chore.

His home was kept relatively clean, but the night before had been hectic and there were still remnants of his clothing on the floor, a damp towel at the end of his bed, the couch cushions untouchable. He would have to deal with that later, but there was simply no room for stripping the linens and worrying with the washer in his morning schedule. He prided himself on his perfect attendance record and he had no designs to tamper with it now. Of course, fate made nothing easy. There was about a half cycle before the bell rang, but it meant squat if he couldn’t find his backpack.

Useless. He had bought the thing in a small size because it was easy to run with, but he was beginning to regret the choice as its apparently inherent talent for disappearing made itself known. After he had run all the way to school to get it, too. It wasn’t as if he could have left it anywhere.

For example, Longarm’s car. The thought slowled Blurr’s spark. The car Longarm had driven him home in, in which they had been so sinfully close. He had left his backpack in his teacher’s car, and now he was going to have to ask for it back.

It would have been difficult enough the day before; now he wasn’t even sure he could face Longarm. What had been a mad dash to make the bus turned into a halting dance around actually leaving the building, edging lightly down the walk before backtracking, locking the door, checking the lock. Nervous did not even describe the emotion. He was petrified, a state which disagreed with every line of his coding. He could not take the bus today. There was enough stimulation in the street around him, his processor abuzz with thoughts.

Normally this part of the day went about as quickly as could be expected, which is to say, outrageously so, but today was different. Everything was different. Blurr was different. He needed to think.

He didn’t want to, though. When the red brick of the campus rose over the horizon, he nearly flinched. Walking slowly had made it difficult for him to organize his thoughts, but he couldn’t bear the idea of getting to school so soon, and skipping was out of the question. He didn’t have Longarm’s class Thursdays, meaning he had the entire day and night to worry. Of course he had art first period and Blitzwing was going to rip his head off if he didn’t at least bring _something_. He had to get his bag back, and there was only one way to do it.

The school was ripe with life, a stark contrast to the evening before but a welcome return to normalcy for Blurr. Skirting around his bustling classmates and peers, he wormed his way across the winding hallways to the classroom he both loved and dreaded, heat rising in the pit of his chest as he steeled himself for the task he was about to perform.

AP Cybertronian Lit. and Comp., room A-144. He pressed his boot to the edge of the door frame, testing to see the light inside. Someone was there. It was now or never.

Longarm looked up from his book.

“Good morning.”

Blurr didn’t not miss the low, sugary tone to his greeting. He shivered.

“Hi, Dr. Longarm, I, I left my…”

Longarm was holding the bag in one hand, a playful quirk in his grin.

“I only noticed once I was already home, or I would have returned it last night. I apologize if I caused you any inconvenience.”

Edging closer, Blurr shook his head quickly.

“No, no, I wasn’t disrupted or anything I was just a little worried, that’s all, thank you so much for, uhm, for giving it back.”

“What else would I have done with it?”

He watched Blurr approach with mild amusement, only moving when he was within reach. Blurr squawked as he was suddenly pulled close, an arm around his waist. Longarm purred into his receptor.

“You’re very welcome.”

Then he was free. Blurr nearly dropped to the floor, the entire incident unexpected. It made him weak in the knees. Everything about this situation did. Offering a wobbly smile, he took a step back.

“Well, I, uh, thank you, and, uhm…”

“Wait.”

He stopped again, stiff as a girder at the command. A sudden shift from his gentle touch moments ago, Longarm looked very serious behind his desk. It almost looked smaller in comparison, his presence filling the room like a giant.

“Blurr, I need to be very clear about what happened last night.”

Inadvertently, Blurr looked around, as if someone had snuck in the room to eavesdrop without either of them noticing.

“WH-what about it?”

Leaning in, Longarm set his jaw.

“You understand the possible consequences of what we have done, correct?”

Blurr nodded.

“So you understand why it is in our best interests to keep quiet about it?”

This talk was going somewhere Blurr did not like.

“Sir?”

Before either of them could break the tension, it was done for them. The bell rang. Against his better judgment, Blurr bolted.

He had retrieved his backpack, and a whole mess of other baggage with it. Last night had been terrifying, and wonderful, a confirmation of every dream and need Blurr had ever felt. It all meant nothing, though, if Longarm expected their coupling to be an isolated incident. If everything he had said then had been a lie intended to grease Blurr up so he could jam his big, lovely fingers up his track shorts.

Blurr didn’t even care about the essay anymore. It was too late to anyhow, even for him, and as he took his place behind his designated easel in class, watching Blitzwing and Wreck-Gar attempt to argue about something in front of the white board, it felt almost like a dream, surreal. He was going to get the first F of this semester on an art project. It seemed fittingly petty.

He still cringed when they were asked to turn in their papers. He almost felt he should fake it, walk up to the desk and back quickly enough that no one could be sure of what he’d done, but that was the kind of deception that went a step too far for his tastes. Choosing instead to hunker down in his stool, he eyed his passing classmates with troubled envy. Wreck-Gar noticed.

“Do you not know where to drop your paper?”

He spoke too loudly; Blurr shrunk further.

“No, I, uh, I don’t have it.”

The co-teacher seemed slightly confused by this.

“Did you lose it? Have it stolen? Dog eat it?”

“No, um,” Blurr could not have been smaller in his hoodie, “I just didn’t do it.”

Across the room, Blitzwing howled.

_“What!”_

Blurr cringed, kicking his heels against the stool as he was set upon. Getting called out by a teacher was one thing, but having Blitzwing at your throat was another. Most students could hardly understand him when he was worked up (which was often), but fortunately or not Blurr’s own speech particularities gave him a unique window into the manic cackles, shouts, and hisses of the co-art teacher. It was highly unpleasant.

It also lasted about fifteen minutes of the class period, which was both embarrassing and annoying as everyone else had little to do than sit and watch while Wreck-Gar retreated to their office to work on his own projects. For a class that was worth little more than a singular elective credit, it probably had the most seriously bonkers teachers in the school. He hardly focused after that, breezing over his less-than-inventive coil pot assignment and sliding, drone-like through biology.

Botanica was a tough but fair teacher, understanding and helpful. She seemed to sense something in him that period and did not bother him much. He supposed it wouldn’t be hard to see the contemplative droop in his shoulders, even behind a row of equally disinterested students. He was usually a regular responder when it came to lesson involvement.

Most ills in high school were soothed by the balm of the lunchroom, the buffer between the bouts of confusion and emotional trauma that made up the classroom day to day. There was little respite to be found today, however, and Blurr took his usual place in somber silence. Sentinel’s crew sat just a table away, loud as ever. He had been with them the first two years but he was coming more and more to terms with the fact that other people really didn’t like not being able to fit a word in edgewise. He had thought isolating himself would hurt more than it did, really. Watching was something he was good at.

Which wasn’t to say he had removed himself from even the concept of friendship, because they were all still people he’d consider himself close to. The dynamics had simply changed since middle school. It was weird, being a junior and having the realization that the end was near. Optimus and Sentinel’s parting of ways had been the biggest news in their short student history, and it had certainly been optic opening for some. Things that had seemed to be set in steel were beginning to shift, and it was frightening.

Blurr was frightened. He was frightened about himself, and what he was going to do now. The more he distanced himself from his teacher, the more it set in, cold and deep in his wiring. He folded his helm in his hands and stared into the holes on his lunch roll. It was a good thing he sat alone. He needed time.

“Hey, man, you look like hot slag.”

Rodimus stepped from foot to foot, balancing his lunch tray in one hand as he pulled a thread from the hem of his shirt with the other.

“I mean, not like I’m trying to insult you, you just look…trashed.”

Unsure whether or not he should greet the arrival of his classmate with caution, Blurr sat up slowly.

“Thanks. Really, I needed someone to tell me I looked scrapped because I had no idea.”

Rodimus screwed up his face before dropping his bag on the ground.

“Mind if I sit here?”

He already was. Blurr supposed he should be thankful the obvious ‘this seat taken?’ question hadn’t been used, because the answer was so painfully clear it would have dampened any desire he had to speak in the first place. As it was, his sudden comrade did not seem deterred by his sour mood, though Blurr could detect a small twitch in his optic, a stiffness of the joints. Rodimus was nervous. That was new.

“Not really, although I see my answer doesn’t seem to matter either way.”

Mixing his green beans with his corn, Rodimus shrugged.

“I’d leave if you asked me to.”

He took a bite, smiling awkwardly around his fork.

“You aren’t gonna ask me to leave, are you?”

Blurr snorted.

“Well, not after you’ve made yourself all comfortable in my space.”

“Your space? It’s a damn table, get over it.”

Nervous or not, he was quickly drawing Blurr from his funk. It was unusual to be approached by anyone who actually knew about his penchant for talking. Beyond that, though he was no longer actively slowing himself down, Rodimus didn’t seem at all thrown by his speech. Finally finding his appetite, Blurr took a healthy chunk out of his spaghetti.

“Well it’s not like anyone else was clamoring to sit there, so I suppose you can stay, although that does bring to mind one or two questions regarding your presence here.”

“Such as?”

Rodimus smiled up at him, hunkered low over his vegetable medley so as not to spill it everywhere.

“What do you want?”

He slurped his beans, snickering.

“What the hell kind of question is that? Are you interrogating me?”

Blurr sputtered slightly, accidentally flicking spats of butter across the table top.

“Well I mean it’s not every day you come and try to initiate lunch or whatever, I’m simply curious. You yourself have to admit it’s a little unusual, don’t you usually sit…” he trailed off, squinting around the room for the familiar bulk of Brawn’s green jersey.

“Yeah, yeah, I get your point,” Rodimus gestured with his utensil, corn still sticking to the tines, “but isn’t it weirder to get all suspicious just because someone wants to enjoy your company?”

Making a face, Blurr showed his teeth.

“Well now I _know_ there’s something suspicious going on here.”

Rodimus held up his hands defensively.

“Alright, I’ll be straight: you looked like slag. I thought you might want some company, that’s all.”

Blurr sipped his milk.

“That’s a dangerous bargain. What if I was upset and wanted to be genuinely left alone?”

Flashing a grin, Rodimus leaned forward in his chair.

“Come on, Blurr, we’ve been in school together for, like, seven years now. I know you better than that.”

That was true, and the obviousness of it made Blurr pause momentarily, considering.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

 The change in tone made Rodimus immediately awkward, looking away with a distant smile as he took up stirring his lunch again. Blurr watched him a moment, not particularly inclined to say anything, for once. He apparently didn’t have to, though, because Rodimus recovered on his own.

“So, what’s got you down?”

Blurr hummed through his pursed lips.

“I forgot an essay for art. It wasn’t really worth much in terms of overall score but Blitzwing really got on my case about it which was duly accepted but I think he can be a little overzealous about these things, you know?”

“Overzealous.”

Rodimus kicked him lightly under the table and Blurr squawked.

“Well it’s clear you’re smart enough to make up the credit, so I wouldn't take it too hard.”

“I’m not…” Blurr rubbed his shin.

“I don’t know, I just had too late a night I guess.”

Which was not true at all. It was early, if anything. Rodimus could hardly know that, though, and he simply shrugged.

“I getcha.”

The next few minutes were spent devouring what was left on their trays in comfortable silence, Rodimus occasionally flicking kibble across the table and Blurr flicking it back. The bell ringing shocked them both, the fastest lunch period either of them had spent in a long time. Rodimus played with the trim of his polo again.

“Well, I guess that’s it for now.”

“Mmm,” Blurr nodded, “thanks for talking to me, I guess.”

It felt stupid even as he was saying it, but Rodimus just waved and left. Blurr lost himself in the infuriatingly slow flowing sea of backs and elbows, drifting towards the general vicinity of his locker in quiet thought. As small as it seemed, Rodimus’s unexpected show of camaraderie left him feeling warm and pleasant, a small smile gracing his lips. They had never been close before, but even their aimless chatter was a nice reminder of how good simplicity could get.

He was so distracted that it took him several nano-kliks to realize that his locker looked different because there was a note taped to the front. His first thought was that he was being challenged by the main antagonist of some B grade 80’s flick, but the humor in his processing dwindled to nothing the moment he got close enough to recognize the handwriting.

_Please see me after school._

_–Dr. Longarm_

Oh.


	3. A Fast Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr takes two rides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some comments about young loss of virginity in this chapter, and while it is in no way an unpleasant encounter in itself I just wanna say heads up. Enjoy~!

He was scared, though he hated to admit it. He was also excited, because as turbulent as his young mind was, bouncing between the fear of being used and the fear of being caught, Dr. Longarm was still as handsome and appealing as ever and his valve still tingled pleasantly with the memory of his warm fingers squirming their way inside.

His next class was math, which he was relatively good at, and Arcee was a fairly forgiving teacher, so he allowed himself the time to think. The lecture was dull and he hardly had to concentrate. He had considered the AP course at the beginning of the year, but the honest truth was that his advantage came from having read the entire textbook the first week of school. There had been nothing better to do, and I certainly ensured less homework as the semester progressed, but he was starting to regret his mild enthusiasm as other kids tried to copy off his work. As if his handwriting could be deciphered by someone not already versed in the various scrawls of unbalanced teenagers.

Longarm had once informed him, good naturedly, that his writing resembled that of a stereotypical doctor. He supposed it was better than the comment Miss Strika had made comparing it to that of a serial killer. Blurr did not want to believe someone who had been able to find benefit in what others always considered an inconvenience should just use him like that, take him out in his car and leave him the day after. He was normally one to scoff at the overdramatic nature of his peers, but when Longarm looked at him like that he just lost all common sense.

So wrapped up in his self-contemplation was he that Blurr almost didn’t notice the bell. In fact, he didn’t, but the steady flow of students rising around him, the roar of thirty voices suddenly speaking at once, was enough to roust him from his thoughts, at least until he reached his next class. Basic Circuit Repair was, thankfully, enough to keep his hands and his processor busy, and for the next hour he was completely focused, only breaking his concentration when he would shift in a way that dragged his aft across the chair, almost mimicking the rough touches from the night before. He wanted to bury his face in his sleeves, a miserable, horny fool.

The worst part about feeling bad for yourself is knowing that your problems are all of your own doing. He was sad because his teacher who he had a crush on may not want to pursue a relationship with him. He was angry because this was a ridiculous and dangerous situation he’d gotten himself into and that he knew he was going to continue obsessing about until it was dealt with, one way or another. He was an idiot, and he’d probably put out too fast, and Longarm thought he was cheap and stupid and he’d come too soon and-

His fingers slipped and the welding torch went right through his palm.

There was a moment of stunned silence as he and the students around him fully realized what had happened, the torch slipping easily from his grasp. The resounding clang as it hit the floor seemed to unpause the universe and several people who had witnessed the incident screamed, jumping from their chairs as the still activated tool spun across the linoleum. Grasping his wrist, as if that would help, Blurr was on his feet in seconds, beginning to hyperventilate almost on cue. He could see the pale tiles of the flooring through the pinpoint hole, the wound instantly cauterized by the heat.

“TEACHER?”

His voice was higher than he’d have liked, were he still capable of caring, and Ironfist immediately scurried over, waving at Hot Shot to deal with the torch.

“Oh, goodness, that does look nasty doesn’t it?”

Blurr began stepping from foot to foot, not wanting to panic but clearly beginning to.

“I mean,” recognizing his bad choice of words, Ironfist hesitated, “it’s nothing Ratchet can’t fix up nicely, don’t worry, no bleeding or loss of motor functions I’m sure!”

“Do you really think so because it hurts a lot like not a normal amount of hurt but a lot lot and I don’t really know what to do I mean should I cover it with something? I guess that would be stupid though since you just said it’s not bleeding and I should probably just go I mean to Ratchet I mean oh Primus what if it really did cut something important and I need surgery to re-wire my servos oh Primus I should really get going shouldn’t I?”

Ironfist was already ushering him to the door.

“Bumblebee! Come make sure Blurr gets to the nurse alright, would you?”

The bot in question, who was currently staring googly eyed at the spiral of burnt tile where the implement of Blurr’s injury had fallen, bounded across the room like it was nothing. He could probably have made one of the sports teams, if he were in any way, shape, or form a team player. Instead he just pretended he had some sort of game on the sidelines, making a big show of his ability to perform when he wanted. Which was never when it was necessary or appropriate, if he could help it.

“Gotcha, gotcha, you can count on me!” he winked obnoxiously at the teacher as they slipped from the room. Blurr would probably be annoyed if wasn’t still holding his damaged appendage up to the light, watching as the dull strobes winked through the puncture in fearful awe.

“Hey man,” Bumblebee started up as soon as they were out of Ironfist’s range, “that was one way to get out of class, huh?”

Shaking a bit, Blurr returned to himself.

“You think I would do something that stupid to get out of doing my work?” he scoffed. “No wonder your grades suck.”

Not even phased, Bumblebee shrugged.

“I have better priorities.”

He seemed to expect some sort of retort, but Blurr was still shaken, biting his lip as the pain began to spread up his arm, the initial shock wearing off and leaving him with no shield.

“That does look pretty bad. Musta hurt like the pit.”

“No, really?”

Blurr grit his teeth, looking away from his unfortunate companion and trying to focus on something else, like the Halloween Bash posters some freshman had crudely photoshopped together and smeared haphazardly across every bulletin board in sight. Unfortunately, Bumblebee didn’t know when to shut up.

“No, but seriously,” he kicked a stray ball of paper off a locker, “you normally seem so angry and boring, it was kind of cool to see you lose it on something. I mean, not like hurting yourself is cool or whatever but, like, knowing you’re a normal guy I guess.”

That was weird, and Blurr didn’t really want to think about it. Thankfully, the nurses’ office was within his sights.

“Well, thanks for walking me. I mean you were forced to by the teacher, but thanks anyways.”

Blurr picked up his pace, finally, thankfully, leaving Bumblebee behind. He waved a hand absently at the overly loud and sarcastic “YOU’RE WELCOME” Bumblebee hurled at his back, jogging the rest of the way to the office door. It was shut and he was a little frightened of messing with the knob right now, so he smacked his hip against the door a few times and hoped Ratchet wouldn’t be too peeved.

“The door‘s open, _like always!”_

Of course, with Ratchet that was a wholly objective goal. Blurr fidgeted a moment more before deciding that, no, taking his uninjured hand away from the wound for more than a half nano-klik wouldn’t cause the appendage to fall off, and quickly squeezing himself through the entrance. Ratchet looked up from his computer, sighing with weary relief.

“Oh, praise the Allspark. I thought you were that chatty freshman. Could hear him from down the dang hall.”

Zipping to the desk, Blurr held his hand out like an offering.

“I was in circuit repair and I dropped a torch on my hand and it cut right through, right through! You can see the light through it! And I mean Mr. Ironfist was pretty sure I wouldn’t lose motor function but I’m not and I think we should probably do something fast before-!”

“Whoa, whoa, get that thing outta my face!”

Ratchet waved him off, standing with some difficulty and leaning in toward the nervous student.

“Pff. You young things are always so hasty, never paying enough attention. Looks like you really did yourself a hard one.”

His seeming lack of concern did not console Blurr.

“So you can fix it, right? With no need for a big time surgery or servo replacement or something?”

“Nope, no need for that.”

Ambling over to his tool shelf, Ratchet took his time in choosing items out, inspecting them, occasionally swapping them out. Blurr bounced up and down in place, shaking.

“Well?”

“Don’t you ‘well’ me, kid.”

Ratchet turned on him and he took a step back, suddenly worried about more than his hand. After a tense moment, Ratchet gestured to the hard little makeshift berth against the wall.

“Sit down if you want me to fix that up. You’re as tall as I am, I’m not doing this whole thing standing.”

“Ah...uh, yes sir, sorry sir.”

Rubbing his wrist, Blurr took his seat, the same bubble of self-doubt again blowing itself wide in his gut. He was acting like a straight up idiot, with all this worrying. What had happened to the honors student everyone knew was going places? He got one little hiccup in his system and suddenly he can’t keep himself together for one day?

Ratchet turned his hand over, humming distastefully.

“Well, you didn’t break anything major. Probably hurts, and I’d be careful with this hand for a few days, but once I patch the hole your internal systems should take care of the rest.”

Blurr breathed out a heavy sigh, as if relieved, but honestly his worries had moved on again. It was good to know he wouldn’t need to report to the medical district, especially since he would have to take the public bus, which was always a trial, but he was already calm enough to have realized the stupidity of such a thought. It was a relatively small hole.

Ratchet finished with him quicker than he’d have thought, given how slowly he moved. Kicking his heels against the side of the berth, Blurr looked over the ugly patches Ratchet had soldered on, feeling rather empty about the whole ordeal.

“Thank you, sir.”

“ _Sir_ ,” Ratchet snorted a little, amused.

“You’re pretty polite for someone stupid enough to drop a torch through their hand.”

“Um, thanks.”

He knew it wasn’t meant as a genuine compliment, but the words came out reflexively. Ratchet shook his head again, giving Blurr another once over.

“Better hurry out before they start locking the doors. Ironfist doesn’t stay after class often and your bag’ll get stuck overnight.”

“What?”

Blurr looked up to the clock on the wall, optics widening in minute arcs of horror.

“It’s four forty, kid. School's been out a while now.”

He spoke too late; Blurr was gone before he’d even opened his mouth. Ironfist was indeed leaving when Blurr arrived, but that was of no consequence. After an infuriatingly long negotiation (almost a full klik) Blurr had his bag and was on the move again, this time speeding not for the school’s exit but a room he was all too familiar with. If Longarm thought he hadn’t come, it really would be all over.

He could hardly consider the idea without growing cold.

The world did not tilt off its axis, though, and when he arrived at the classroom Dr. Longarm was sitting quietly behind his desk as always. Blurr panted, bracing himself on the door frame, less out of exhaustion than straight panic. Longarm snapped his book shut and the sound was like the approaching blade of a guillotine.

“You’re late.”

He did not sound contemptuous at all and it only made Blurr’s shame cut deeper.

“I know, I know sir, and I’m so, so sorry, I just, I hurt myself in class and I had to go see Ratchet and-!”

“Hurt yourself?”

Longarm’s brow furrowed.

“Let me see.”

It was more of an order than anything else he had ever said to Blurr and it shut him up fast, stiffly approaching the desk and presenting his hand.

“It’s-it’s nothing serious, I just cut myself with an, uhm, a torch…”

Longarm’s touch was curious and careful, turning Blurr’s hand over between his own to inspect the covered damage.

“You cut all the way through your hand?”

Once again swallowed by the realization of his stupidity, Blurr nodded, wincing.

“Yes. I mean, yeah, it was pretty dumb, just a dumb accident, but yeah, I did.”

He would have said more, apologized more for his blundering nature, but all thoughts of self-deprecation died in his throat as Longarm raised his palm to his lips, kissing each freshly welded seam carefully. The act was as intimate as anything they had done before, in the car, even more so, and Blurr’s spark fluctuated so powerfully that he worried he might faint.

“You should be more careful.”

“I-I-I know.”

He could hardly remember what he was responding to. Longarm looked up at him serenely.

“You ran away from me, earlier.”

Blurr flinched.

“I did. I was, I was nervous because you were saying that I needed to keep quiet about us which is true but I was afraid that you meant…”

Longarm’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on his wrist, just under the wound.

“That I meant what?”

“Thatyoumeantyoudidn’twanttoseemeagainSir!”

His thoughts themselves were a rush and jumble, and he felt small and impossibly large all at once, the sole object of Longarm’s scrutiny. But Longarm smiled.

“Why would I want that? I am quite fond of you, Blurr.”

He quailed under the onslaught of praise.

“I don’t know, sir, you just made it seem so…” he bit his lip.

Longarm pushed his chair away from the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I never took you as the type to jump to conclusions so easily.”

“Well, I…”

Taking a deep breath, Blurr clicked his heels together, standing straight.

“You’re absolutely right, sir, I allowed my emotions to distract me and I made a hasty and not well thought out decision. I’m sorry.”

Longarm laughed.

“So formal.” He leaned forward, smile tugging wider.

“I do like that about you. Come here.”

Blurr could not have resisted, even without the fresh confirmation of his worth. He slid forward into Longarm’s lap like he was made to perch there, skinny aft balancing on his thick thighs. Longarm pulled him closer still, slipping a hand low on Blurr’s back to tease the hem of his shorts. Unused to being treated in such a forward manner, Blurr heated perceptibly.

“So,” said Longarm, once they were comfortably arranged, “are we clear?”

Blurr shivered.

“Yes sir. We can continue to see each other as long as we are careful about it and I understand the boundaries. Got it.”

“Very good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the school football team practice outside filtering quietly through the shuttered blinds. Longarm’s hand rubbed quiet circles on his back, almost bunching the fabric up enough to touch proto metal but not quite. It would have been pleasant enough, but Blurr could not stay still long, and the stress of the day was giving him serious shakes. He needed a little more action.

“So, Dr. Longarm, is that the only reason you called me in here?”

He tried to smile secretively, but his lingering shyness still pushed through. It only intensified when Longarm’s fingers inched down the back of his shorts, finally making contact.

“Of course not.”

His teacher was equally randy it seemed. Blurr squirmed, trying to edge the fingers down deeper into his pants, painfully aware that the door to the classroom was still unlocked and yet thrilled by the danger of it. Dr. Longarm was no fool; he wouldn’t have set something like this up if he wasn’t sure of himself. Wanting to touch but not to be too fresh with him, Blurr played with the lapels of his jacket.

“What’s the other reason, then?”

He hunched his back, leaning in close in hopes of stealing a kiss. Longarm quickly evaded him, only allowing their lips to brush.

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

As he said this, his hand did slip lower, into Blurr’s briefs to cup his aft. Blurr jumped a bit, whining between his teeth. Barely anything had happened yet but he was already so hot. Just as the night before, Longarm’s hand burned a swath across his plating, tingling long after he had ceased to pay attention to the area.

“Y-yes, sir? What question could you possibly have for me now after we’ve already talked about the important matter at hand? Unless there’s something more _personal_ you’d like to know about?”

Even as his voice wavered, he delivered the words with the same velocity and intent as ever, a hint of seduction weaving his tongue. Longarm purred a bit, teasing his fingers just low enough to make Blurr shake before speaking.  

“Well, Blurr,” as careful and cultured s ever, “I couldn’t help but notice something last night.”

Blurr arched into his touches, gripping Longarm’s jacket to steady himself.

“And what is, is that, sir?”

Allowing him some mercy, Longarm pressed a line of kisses along Blurr’s jaw, stopping just by his receptor. The feeling of cool breath against his neck made Blurr shiver and moan, teeth flashing in a wide smile.

“You weren’t sealed.”

Every line of data currently being processed in Blurr’s mind froze, his optics popping and flickering for a bare moment of raw panic.

“…No, sir, I’m not.”

He could feel the continuing puffs of air against his cheek, but he did not dare to turn his face, see the true feelings behind Dr. Longarm’s question for himself. There was a pause, a dreadful, infinite pause, and then Longarm pressed another chaste peck to his throat.

“Tell me about it.”

“You want me to…” Blurr swallowed.

“You want me to tell you about how I lost my s-seals?”

Blurr could barely force the words from his vocalizer, a little shocked at the raunchy turn of events. He was embarrassed enough to be being asked about it, much less to have to actually describe in some amount of detail how the deed had been done. Longarm had not seemed upset, though, or mean spirited. He was simply curious. He nodded softly into his shoulder and Blurr could not deny him that boon.

“Well I, I used to go to a running summer camp for kids, ages ten to fifteen. The summer before my sophomore year I, well, I mean there was this other bot there, this senior, and she was really good, and I mean really, really good. She was the only one who could ever beat me, even though I could still beat her back. We were pretty evenly matched I guess.

Anyways, she and I competed a lot, and then one day Override –that was her designation- Override and I were out on a morning jog together, one that wasn’t, wasn’t really part of the regular camp stuff, so it was just us, and she caught up to me and we started pushing each other around and there were these woods nearby and we just kinda fell into them and, and, umh, you know.”

As he spoke, Longarm had pulled back, forcing him to maintain optical contact. His teacher’s expression was small and stiff, and Blurr shrank in fear of his disapproval.

“Fifteen is rather young, is it not?”

“Yeah, it is, but we only did it once!”

He was not sure how that changed anything. but he said it anyways.

“Did you regret it?”

The question took Blurr aback, and he had to think for a nano-klik.

“No. I liked her. It was nice.”

He didn’t mean to sound so fragmented, but Longarm’s steady gaze was disrupting his thoughts.

“That’s good,” Longarm smiled, “very good.”

He cared. He had asked because he was worried that Blurr had been in a situation that was less than preferable. The realization shocked Blurr so badly that he could hardly circulate air a moment, spark swelling in his breast until it hurt. _Longarm cared._

Freed from their tense moment, Longarm’s hands began liberally making there way under Blurr’s clothing again, the hand on his aft finally sliding down enough to tease the very back edge of his interface paneling. Blurr jumped, again forced to grasp at Longarm’s broad shoulder for support as he leaned forward to grant him better access. Another hand was worming up the inside of his shirt, finding the tight plating in his chest and sides and working against him so roughly he couldn’t choke down the series of high whines building in his chest.

“Wha-but-why-!”

“Shh, Blurr.”

Longarm’s inquiry had given birth to a thousand questions in Blurr’s mind, but he couldn’t form them into proper words. Instead, he stuttered and hissed, letting his helm fall back and Longarm once again nudged for his throat, this time applying teeth in a way that hurt just enough to make colors bloom before his optics. Too far gone to consider his shorts, Blurr opened his panels the minute fingers probed hard enough, slick and ready. Longarm’s fingers pushed inside and he arched further against him, moaning high and reedy.

The gentle interrogation had set him on edge, but, same as the evening before, the fear only added to his anticipation, desire blooming deep in his gut. Longarm managed to slip a third finger just barely inside, a fourth sliding up his soaking valve to tenderly circle his exterior node. Blurr could feel his shorts straining against the intrusion, bunching down around his thighs, but it only allowed him to spread himself wider, kissing all over Longarm’s forehead in thanks as he rocked his hips back fast into the slow thrusts.

“Oh sir, oh Doctor Longarm, sir-!”

Tension that had built all day was cut though like a knife, shredded by Longarm’s sweet kisses and talented fingers. Blurr wanted to remain like this as long as possible, but his overload was approaching fast and there was nothing he could do to prevent the rush of fluids pouring down between his legs, soaking his underpants. Longarm’s other arm separated itself from his chest, circling around his back to pull them flush against one another, the tight angle opening him perfectly for a rough finger-fragging that made Blurr howl into his shoulder.

“Blurr,” whispered Longarm, lips brushing the bio lighting on his cheek, “overload now.”

He did, two thrusts later, mouth hanging open in a wet sob of relief as every sour emotion from the day seemed to flood out with the electricity bursting along his frame, calipers clamping down tight around Longarm’s fingers. The one circling his exterior node moved in tandem with his thumb to pinch it and Blurr jolted through another, far quicker shock of pleasure.

Even as he slumped, tired and empty, against his teacher, Blurr attempted to keep his hips raised, fearing the mess they’d make together. Longarm pet his back, humming a soothing cadence against his helm.

“There’s a good boy.”

Despite everything, Blurr took the words as the highest of praise, beyond content. He was exhausted, but his spark whirled a little brighter, he was sure of it. Longarm helped him to the floor, engine purring pleasantly. He looked up into his kind face, optics drooping with exhaustion and unabashed adoration. Longarm was so perfect, so wonderfully perfect. He cared about Blurr’s wellbeing. He asked questions about him because he was concerned.

In that singular moment Blurr was sure he loved him.

“Don’t pull your shorts up just yet,” Longarm was saying, rooting around in his desk and returning with wet wipes.

“Thank you, sir.”

Blurr accepted them demurely, still doe eyed and woozy. His circuitry fizzled happily even as he wiped himself off under the full scrutiny of someone he cared about, the world returning around them. The football game seemed to be ending outside, the shrill screech of a pea whistle indicating Lugnut’s call. Longarm cleaned his own hand meticulously, a private smile gracing his features.

Something occurred to Blurr.

“Longarm, sir?” he inched forwards on the floor, pulling his shorts and damp underpants back on, “do you want me to, you know, take care of you?”

Timid but brave, Blurr placed his fingers on Longarm’s knee, rubbing the ashy slacks suggestively.

“Ah, no.” Longarm’s optics flashed.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” Blurr clicked his tongue, a little surprised but not particularly offended, “may I ask why, sir?”

The setting sun shone through the slats of the window blinds just right, reflecting off the linoleum tiles as it set and illuminating the entire room with bars of gold. Floating just behind his head, the distant star surrounded Longarm, darkening and dimming every detail of his face until all that could be made out was the orb on his forehead, filled with light, and Blurr had to squint through its brilliance.

“Because, my dear, you haven’t yet earned the right.”

Blurr stumbled out of the school and into the evening air, the luckiest person alive. Longarm’s parting kiss still glowed on his lips, and his legs shook with the exertion of walking. He was glad to not have had track practice on top of everything else, although he would have missed it by now. There were clouds streaking the sky, low and plush, and they held in the heat of the day so that even the shade felt stagnant.  He could hardly tell, the puttering of his sated engine running enough heat off his frame to make him burn regardless.

At the first crosswalk, Blurr tugged at his hoodie, unable to stand the feeling any longer. He enjoyed the memory of body heat against his own, but the fabric made things excessive and he worried condensation would soon muddy the memory away. As the fabric passed over his oblong helm, a nearby car horn startled him into jumping, tripping over his own feet and landing head over heels on the sidewalk.

“Scrap, I’m sorry!”

Escaping his soft prison, Blurr glared at Rodimus.

“If you’re so sorry, why are you laughing, hmm?”

Rodimus was laughing, but he at least had the gall to look a little guilty for it.

“Well, you look like an idiot for one thing.”

The light had turned green some time ago, but Rodimus kept his foot on the brake, not a car in sight to protest. As Blurr righted himself, brushing dust tenderly from his backside, he sniffed at the intruder to his thoughts.

“What are you doing out here anyways? It’s, like, six thirty.”

“Thursday archery practice is two hours. I just got out.”

The locks on the car doors sprang up.

“You ‘been out running? You look beat. Want a ride?”

He asked with such smooth confidence that his assumptions didn’t bother Blurr in the slightest. Squinting into the autumn heat, Blurr shrugged.

“Why not. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Checking that he still had his bag on him, Blurr hopped into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. The material was fine, leathery, but it was uncomfortable against his freshly bared shoulders, sticky with humidity.

“You know where I live, right?”

“Something like that.”

Rodimus shifted gears.

“Hope you like going fast outside the track.”

Blurr didn’t have long to ponder the question. Laughing, Rodimus dug his heel into the gas pedal and they were gone.


	4. Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr does a lot of dumb things but doesn't regret them.

“You want something to drink?”

“What?”

Blurr had been kicking a soda can back and forth on the floor. The halting speed of the car made it jump and roll away from his feet, underneath the car seat, but as they reached the next red light it returned.

“You know, like, like a slushie or something.”

Rodimus grinned at him out of the corner of his optic.

“I’m thirsty.”

Blurr caught the can between his boots and held it there.

“I don’t bring money to school.”

“Ah,” Rodimus hit the gas as soon as the light changed, “that’s not an issue. You can just watch me drink.”

Blurr gave him a look and he burst out laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just being a dick. I’ll buy you something.”

That was almost worse.

“You don’t- don’t do that okay? That’s, like, I’m not even that thirsty.”

Blurr rubbed his arm, looking out the window again. The can slipped from his grasp and he kicked it against the bottom of the dashboard.

“Dude, it’s not a problem. It’s not like I really need the ninety nine cents for something else.”

Biting his tongue, Blurr said nothing. The window was cracked and he could hear the loud rush of wind as they sped by, the faint smells of oil and pollen filtering into the car. He couldn’t even remember if he had homework for Friday, no immediate excuses rushing to mind as to why he shouldn’t go. He shifted a little and his valve twinged, a small reminder of exactly what he was doing here.

“Rodimus, maybe I should-”

“Here we are!”

Rodimus spun the wheel and they flew into the gas station parking lot, narrowly avoiding a white sedan and somehow managing to align perfectly between two beat up looking trucks. If speed were anything new to Blurr he would have needed a moment to catch his breath, but as it was he slid out of the car as if it were nothing, joining Rodimus on the sidewalk. The ground was speckled black with old gum and oil stains.

“Classy.”

“Hey, it’s cheap!”

Rodimus ducked around him and held the door open.

“After you.”

Blurr rolled his optics, unable to hold back a smile.

“See, when you do things like this I can’t help but be suspicious again, Rodimus, because I know for a fact you are not in any way shape or form a gentleman and yet here you are buying me a drink and holding the door for me.”

“Fine, have it your way.”

Blurr had been half way through the entrance already and when Rodimus released the door it swung back so fast there was no evading the metallic smack on his aft. The stumbled forward, nearly tripping on the waxy tiles of the convenience store, and Rodimus crowed with laughter. Bracing himself on his knees, Blurr glared.

“Well at least I know I can trust _this_.”

His unexpected chauffer was already weaving between the aisles of jerky and chips and chapstick, the hum of the soda machine welcoming him into the dim back corner. There were more flavors than Blurr would have expected, each glowing in its own bright radioactive color. Rodimus was already in the corner, filling a large cup.

“It’s the same price for every size,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as Blurr approached, “get whatever you want.”

“You seriously don’t have to do that.”

Blurr shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling sticky just looking at the machines.

“No, dude, not even.”

Rodimus was already sipping his drink, despite having not paid for it.

“Those flavors are just for kids. Don’t even bother. The only good ones are the sodas.”

For better or worse, the nutty brown ice Rodimus had chosen looked far more natural in a Styrofoam cup than the neon rainbow of the fruit flavors. He chose the smallest cup size, although small was apparently an arbitrary concept here, and considered. If he picked the exact same drink as Rodimus would it come off as a good choice or a haphazard attempt at imitation?

Then he realized he didn’t care.

“Good choice.”

Rodimus clapped him on the back and Blurr jumped.

“Must you keep doing that? I really don’t appreciate it.”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Steering him towards the counter, Rodimus smiled sheepishly. Whether he liked it or not, Blurr was happy to have this innocent break from his current reality. Rodimus was fun in a way he hadn’t experienced for what felt like forever. Certainly years. It was difficult finding comfort in people you knew didn’t understand you, and while he and Rodimus certainly didn’t know each other well, there was something about the easy way he sidestepped Blurr’s quirks that soothed his edges. 

He slapped a five on the counter and they took off. Instead of getting back in his car, Rodimus rounded the building, briskly enough to keep Blurr on his toes but not nearly enough to stress his legs. Rodimus spun on his heel, walking backwards a few paces.

“Just bear with me, it’s right over here.”

Blurr shoved his unoccupied hand in the pouch of his hoodie, quirking an optical ridge.

“What is? Your drug dealer? Because I am not buying anything off you, for you, or with you.”

“Very funny.”

There was a black fence overlooking a steep decline to the highway. Reaching it, Rodimus promptly dropped down, threading his legs through the bars and patting the space next to him.

“Sit.”

Blurr cocked his helm.

“So you’re just going to assume I want to join you.”

Snorting while talking a sip, Rodimus eyed him.

“You agreed to have a drink with me, I figured you can’t loath my company _that_ much.”

“What if I was afraid of heights?”

Blurr was already sliding into place next to him, crossing his ankles around the warm metal.

“Are you?”

“Not any more than the average bot.”

They were still a moment, noisily slurping their drinks as the fog of cars passing beneath wafted over them, pungent and sour. Rodimus kicked a pebble off the wall below. The sun was setting over the eastern mountains and it illuminated them for a brief second, enormous before the distant star. Blurr pressed his face between the bars, absently estimating how high up they were. Rodimus coughed surreptitiously.

“Thanks for coming, anyways.”

Blurr could tell he wanted to say something more but didn’t try to prompt it out of him. He took another long swig, the cold cup feeling odd against the patches over his wound. He had almost forgotten about it, and remembering only stirred a dull throbbing to the surface.  

“These are really good. I haven’t had once since sixth grade; I forgot how much I liked them.”

“Sixth grade?”

Rodimus looked up sharply.

“Why the hell did you stop?”

Grateful that the conversation had again turned to comfortable, shallow waters, Blurr shrugged.

“I stopped drinking soda when I got really into running. It isn’t a big deal I suppose but it was important to me.”

“Like you need any more advantages over us poor short legged Zambonis.”

Blurr elbowed him in the side, hard, without even thinking.

“What the slag does that mean?”

Rodimus yelped, laughing.

“If you beat me up, I’m not driving you home!”

“Then I’ll just steal your keys and drive myself.”

A small smile split Blurr’s face.

It was dark when they got back in the car. The headlights illuminated an old gumball machine in front of the store like the killer in a horror flick. Blurr reclined the seat a little, kicking his backpack to give his feet more room.

“How did you even afford this anyways? The car I mean, not the slushies, as that would be a pretty dumb question.”

Rodimus picked at the dial, wavering news casters mingling with country soul that slowly bled into old rock.

“Mags wants me to do out of town competitions, like archery and debate team and stuff. He can’t drive me all the time so he said he’d get me a car.”

“And he got you _this_?”

Blurr was skeptical. And jealous.

“Well, the deal was that if I got three hundreds in a row I could pick whatever I wanted from an in town lot.”

He gave Blurr a naughty look, the tip of his tongue caught between his bared teeth.

“He should really do his research before he lets me pick the place.”

Despite fully recognizing the cliché, Blurr allowed himself to find Rodimus’s bold reversal of Ultra Magnus’s intended rule set to amuse him.

“I’m sure you felt very clever being able to pull the steel wool over our principal’s optical sensors.”

He shrugged.

“Everyone loves a rebel.”

Television had poisoned everyone’s minds about how the night was supposed to be. Though Blurr had been raised his entire life in this small town, he still was surprised by how quiet everything was in the shadow of the evening moon. He still felt odd about accepting a ride from Rodimus after so many years of nothing, but now the silence was at least a little less oppressive. He watched the slow bob of his knee as he adjusted his foot on the pedals, the way his thumb twitched along his steering wheel. He wondered if Rodimus felt strange about it too, or if his free attitude towards approaching Blurr was indicative of his general confidence. He wondered if Rodimus had felt his absence over the years.

Blurr could not say he had himself, but he still wondered. It was only when they turned, finally, into his habitation center’s parking lot that he remembered why Rodimus had picked him up in the first place.

“Is this close enough?”

Rodimus pulled into a space and stalled, glancing across the dash at his passenger. Blurr took a moment to reply, worrying a hand over his thigh.

“Yeah, this is fine, I mean it isn’t really close but I’d kinda be glad for the walk anyways.”

Seemingly satisfied, Rodimus parked. Neither of them moved for a full minute. As new and weird as everything today had been, Blurr really was happy. Not nervously happy, as the night before, not subduedly pleased as he had been the months before, but actually, genuinely happy. He slid his backpack into his lap, digging around under the seat to find where his drink cup had fallen.

“Thank you for the ride, Rodimus, and for the drink, and for inviting me in the first place. It was nice.”

Rodimus hummed a small note of agreement, not looking up.

“Yeah.”

Blurr tapped his heels against the floor mat.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

Rodimus exhaled loudly.

“Yeah. In history, right?”

For a moment Blurr was confused, until he realized Rodimus meant the class and not the real time event. He clutched his bag tighter. Was Rodimus in his history class? He had never even noticed. Now a small thrill of panic ran up his spinal strut as he tried to recall everyone who sat around him, forward and back, because he didn’t want to say something stupid and have Rodimus realize he had forgotten him, but Rodimus was already flicking the locks on the car doors and Blurr realized he should probably just leave.

“Uhm, yeah, see you then.”

Rodimus smiled. Apparently that was the correct answer.

“Bye.”

Blurr waved, sliding out of the passenger seat and into the heavy night. They really had parked a ways from his house, as Rodimus had pulled through the E block, but he had meant it when he said he would enjoy the walk. The motion kept his mind turning, helped him sort through things. That was something he really needed today.

Rodimus’s car did not move the entire time Blurr was walking, and he turned a corner before he even saw the headlights flicker on. It was a nice gesture, albeit mostly meaningless in their safe society, and he buried a smile in the sleeve of his hoodie. He could hardly remember what it felt like to have someone watching his back, literally or figuratively. It was a good thing.

It was such a good thing, in fact, that it was not until he was ascending the porch of his home that his thoughts finally drifted back, as they always would, to Dr. Longarm. All at once he was giddy again, head swimming, and he nearly stumbled the last step straight into his front door. Stupid, stupid. It was so stupid. Everything was changing so fast and it wasn’t even Friday.

When he got inside he needed to do something. If he couldn’t keep his legs busy he at least needed to occupy his hands because if he was still for too long the thoughts would pile up and that was absolutely the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment. He tore through his backpack, subconsciously praising himself for at least not having forgotten it today, through all the madness. His hand was stinging and he grimaced, annoyed with himself. There was nothing to do, nothing. He had finished all his homework already. It was too easy. Maybe he should have taken all AP courses. He shook his hand as if the pain were wet mud he could slick off.

He couch still needed to be cleaned. It was unpleasant but had to be done. A brief shock of embarrassment flared through him, considering, though unlikely, the possibility of Longarm having walked him in last night, of having seen his cum stained cushions. What would he have assumed? Blurr shuddered to imagine. So badly, in fact, that the zipper caught on his temporary bandages painful as he tried to remove the pillow cover. He sucked on his hand, both upset and laughing at himself, annoyed and giddy. Being overly emotional was already far out in left field for him, and apparently every part of his sanity fell to pieces when he submitted to it.

As he stood, clutching the cover to his breast and his hand to his lips, he paused. There was no clear way to describe his thoughts at the moment, but he was suddenly unsettled. It was the kind of feeling he remembered from his younger days, when his sensory net was still calibrating and he would see, from the corners of his optics, or hear, just out of range, things his developing brain could not immediately make sense of, creating something new and shadowy, not quite reality yet not quite imagination, the weak graspings of a small mind. He stared at the wall and could not understand it.

Then the moment was lost and he was moving again, dragging the soiled cushion covers into the other room and stuffing them into the washing machine. He measured and remeasured the softener, not entirely sure that he cared how soft they were in the first place but keeping up the appearance of true cautiousness because lax housekeeping was a gateway to sloppiness. Though it was largely for his own piece of mind, he could not stand an unkempt house.

Various pitterings and patterings later and he was lying shower-fresh on his bed, staring out the window into the black sky and still a pile of raw nerves. He buried his face in his pillow and yelled, vibrating with the force of his expression. It was not pure exasperation but it certainly wasn’t just joy and he could hardly catalogue the emotion because it was so overwhelmingly powerful that he could hardly even grasp the fact that he was feeling it. He kicked his feet into his sheets and wondered why the hell he was even worrying about it. Especially when, instead of worrying, he should be thanking Primus that he had finally gotten his legs around those blunt, wide fingers, lips against his throat.

Before he even knew what he was doing his underpants were on the floor. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He shoved two fingers into his valve and bit his pillow, head jerking back up so that he tugged on it like a wild animal. His spike slid over the sheets and he was already making a mess so soon after washing the couch but it felt so good, the lingering tingles of Longarm’s hands on his body making him whine into his bed. His fingers were far too thin, not enough, and he curled them harshly, upset.

It was fast and dirty, his hips dancing between his thrusting fingers and the smooth slide of the bed sheets against his spike. His legs tumbled off the bed, toes bracing hard into the rough carpet and pushing him forward. The mattress shook, began to slide off the box spring, and he was so close already. He dug a third finger inside himself and saw stars, and Longarm, imagined his cool hands forcing his neck down, holding his hips stead so he could only feel and accept, a thought so good it sparked blue pops of overheated filament light from his eyes.

He slammed his own face into the bed, spreading himself wide and cumming. He spat the wad of cloth from his mouth and gasped for fresh air, a little dizzy and very confused. Things could not keep going on like this, surely. He was a teenager, of course, but even so it seemed excessive. He sucked on his dirty fingers sorely, peeling the wet sheet from his stomach as his spike retracted, rolling over on his side. It was a long night.

When the morning came, though, he was ready for it. This week, Friday consisted of A block classes, which meant that, had Rodimus meant what Blurr suspected last night, he would be seeing both his potential friend and his favorite teacher periodically throughout the day. For better or for worse, his first meeting would be staged in Cybertronian History II, which meant it would be governed by Ms. Strika.

He walked again, the usual route, the usual routine. He could no longer use the excuse of needing time to think, but he no longer needed it. He arrived thirty minutes early and ran the track until he felt more comfortable finding his way inside, slipping off his hoodie and allowing the bright sun to gleam off his shoulder blades through his tank. It was a hot morning, the air thick but dry, and he could feel the dam of the grass beneath his feet filtering up into the sky around him. It was a sparse few laps compared to his normal rate but he pushed his limits, not bothering with time or distance but speed alone. It wasn’t until the parking lot began to fill from a few spots of color to a full rainbow that he stopped. He’d left his bag on the ground and when he picked it up little white insects, hardly flecks against the blue, scattered.

The school was already bustling when he came through the side, as he’d hoped. Noise, crowds. He was comfortable here. Now there was the added bonus of being excited for something.  Ms. Strika was, as per the norm, giving the door to the hallway her hardest of stares, instilling the value of silence into all who dared enter, but it only slowed Blurr’s step a fraction today as he immediately spotted his target, three desks from the wall, back row.

“Hey!”

The moment the word slipped from Rodimus’s mouth they both froze, glancing to the front of the room. Strika did not move, though, still focusing her wrath upon those stragglers who were not quite late to class and not on them.

“Hey.”

Blurr was considerably more careful with his tone, sliding into the seat beside Rodimus. He had never sat at the back before and felt a little self-conscious about it, as if he would be ruled a lesser student by association alone. Not to say Rodimus was a lesser student, but the stereotype still stood.

“This isn’t anyone’s seat is it? Because if it is I can move or you can move or something, I don’t want to put anyone out of their place.”

Rodimus shook his head, wrinkling his nasal ridge in silent laughter.

“No. I mean, yeah, but it’s just that prick Lockjaw, or Lockup or whatever.”

“Lock _down_.”

Blurr straightened his back nonetheless, free to relax. Lockdown almost never showed up anyways. It was only his third time taking the course. He knew all the test material by heart and sold it out of the D wing bathrooms. The only reason he was still in school was…well, the stories varied. He had trouble with the law, he skipped too often, some sort of alleged tangle with the school’s staunchest financial contributor (which was possibly the most bizarre and unlikely of them all). Blurr could care less if the punk stomped in right now and demanded his seat back. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to start something around Ms. Strika.

“Your hand looks better.”

Having honestly forgotten it himself, Blurr looked down at the patching.

“I guess- wait a klik, you didn't even ask about it yesterday!”

He slapped his uninjured palm over his mouth, but the bell managed to ring perfectly in sync with his exclamation, and Strika was none the wiser.

“Page two twenty two, now.”

It was a command, not a suggestion, and everyone in the room scrambled to obey. As he leaned down to pull fourth his textbook, Rodimus winked at Blurr.

“You think a kid puts a torch through his hand and nobody’s gonna talk about it? I knew everything before you had even made it to the nurse.”

Blurr hissed at him but said nothing, amused.

“Would anyone volunteer to read passage one?”

Everyone shrank down in their seats but Blurr, who began to raise his hand. Strika was prepared.

“Not you.”

He slumped, annoyed. Rodimus snickered.

“Ah, you.”

And fell right into Strika’s trap.

“Begin.”

This time on the receiving end of the joke, Rodimus shot Blurr a cheeky look as his finger found the first sentence and he began to speak.

The class being what it was, they didn’t speak again until the end, as they parted ways. Blurr hurriedly informed Rodimus of his full schedule, lamenting that they shared some similar courses but not at the same time. When he described the rest of his day Rodimus laughed.

“You got stuck with Longarm too, huh?”

Immediately alarmed, Blurr bristled.

“What do you mean? He’s a good teacher, a better teacher than most, especially here, and I like him a lot, I mean, as far as teachers go, I don’t see what you’re getting at at all!”

Rodimus grabbed his shoulders and steered him away from the large crowd of seniors he nearly stumbled into.

“Geeze, geeze, calm down!”

He was clearly surprised and Blurr bit back an apology.

“Are you always this intense about your education or is Longarm just the exception?”

It was a joke. He was teasing. Blurr looked away.

“I, um, it was nothing. I was. I like that class.”

He had wedged a clear space between them and he felt immensely guilty for it. Rodimus pushed through anyways.

“Yeah, he’s a good teacher. I just think he’s kinda, like, funny, you know?”

Blurr didn’t know and he didn’t feel like saying so, but Rodimus backed down.

“Well, I gotta go.”

Nodding, Blurr managed a smile.

“I guess I’ll see you at lunch?”

Rodimus was openly relieved.

“Yeah. Lunch.”

He shook his backpack.

“I got soda.”

Blurr was an idiot. A huge, monumental, grade A idiot. How could he be so openly adoring of his teacher when he knew full well what the consequences of them ever even being implicated as having been more than platonic were dire. He wasn't so smitten that he couldn’t speak lies against Longarm if he had to. Rodimus probably thought he was bent out of shape over nothing and he really didn’t want the slow blooming friendship to wither over something as foolish as his _stupid, stupid, stupid_ crush.

Longarm turned out from around the corner and walked straight down the hall towards him. it was as if he’d stepped out of a dream itself and Blurr just stood there, dumb and mute, until Longarm was very close and simply said, “good morning, Blurr.”

Blurr stammered. His knees shook. His backpack was suddenly too heavy and he was going to be sucked down into Cybertron’s core along with its immense weight. Longarm winked.

Blurr bolted.


	5. Walk The Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr earns himself a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I will be more careful in the future when I open requests!! Enjoy!

“What do you mean, nothing?”

Blurr tucked his lunch tray neatly against the table’s edge and his arms, keeping a safe but comfortable distance from Rodimus’s over exuberant flailing.

“I mean I have nothing planned for this weekend. That doesn’t exactly mean I’m not going to do anything, just that I haven’t had anything in mind, which must be strange for you since, given your reaction, I can only assume you come from a place where everyone plans every nano-klik of every cycle out in full.”

“Shut up!”

Rodimus swatted at him.

“I just mean, like, you were serious when you said your social life was dead. Yeesh.”

Smirking with a queer brand of self-satisfaction, Blurr tucked into his green beans.

“Despite popular belief, I am not prone to exaggeration. Idiot.”

This time he ducked away from Rodimus’s vengeful hand, laughing around his fork.

“This isn’t a game,” he exclaimed, “Weekends are serious business!”

“Are they?”

“They are!”

Wrapping an arm around Blurr’s shoulders, Rodimus pulled them together, sweeping his other hand out across the empty air as if to display a vast and virgin landscape.

“We need to do something. We need to go out this weekend and- and do something.”

“Inspiring. You should consider going into public speaking.”

Blurr shoved him off with an elbow, reaching for the milk.

“No, but really.”

Rodimus settled back into his seat, smile flickering, just barely, as he popped his soda top.

“You wanna hang out?”

“And do what?”

He hadn’t meant it to sound disinterested but the question clearly brought on immediate strife and Blurr regretted asking it.

“I mean, yeah, of course I do. I just wanted to know if you had anything in mind in particular. Not that it wouldn’t be fine if you didn’t. I don’t care if we just hang around somewhere like we did yesterday. I don’t mean anything by it.”

His own voice felt as if it passed through him with equal awkwardness, but Rodimus instantly relaxed.

“Well, duh. Yeah. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

Blurr wondered if being a part of a larger group had shielded Rodimus’s blatant nerves before. He seemed to be under the impression that he was doing a good job fooling Blurr, though he wasn’t. The thought itself gave birth to a slew of other questions, namely tacked onto the back of the realization that, since his first attempt at contact with Blurr earlier in the week, Rodimus hadn’t spent a single moment that Blurr had noticed with anyone else in their school. He could still see Sentinel and the others at their combined table in the corner, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. Though it sparked another small twinge of paranoia in his gut, Blurr subdued the feeling. Rodimus would reveal his motives in time.

Now he was looking through the leaves of his sandwich as if he expected a surprise, and Blurr realized he may have dragged the silence on too long. Clearing his throat, he took another bite.

“So, I’m thinking, Saturday? Provided that’s a good time for you, of course; as I already stated my time is all free so I guess there isn’t any reason why it couldn’t be another day but Saturday has always seemed like one of those special 80’s-movie kind of days for wreaking havoc or whatever.”

“Yeah.”

Rodimus kicked his own bag under the table a few times, not looking up but smiling.

“Sounds good.”

Blurr didn’t bother questioning his new friend’s anxiety. After all, he had plenty on his own plate, although hopefully their two situations stemmed from different roots. Running was what he did, but he still felt like an idiot for applying it to what was swiftly becoming any attempt at social contact with Longarm other than having a hand shoved up his shorts. He was torn between squirming in his seat, overcome, and trying to pretend it hadn’t happened at all so he could get through another day with clean underpants.

However, neither action would prove to be a solution. Frustrated and embarrassed, he did want to see his teacher. He was just unsure how well he would be able to steel himself in public, much less alone with him, not now. Admittedly, hiding his intimate interests from Longarm was now a moot point, when taken into serious consideration, but the alarming rate at which he felt himself losing self-control was too big to ignore. Longarm would be…

He stopped outside the classroom, shifting.

Longarm would be disappointed.

“Now, I know it’s almost the weekend, but please, remember to take your water breaks now, before the bell rings, and not during class please!”

A considerable amount of students had already showed up and were milling about the room. Even though Longarm was currently attempting to herd them all to or from their seats, his still managed to take notice of Blurr the moment he stepped across the threshold, lifting his helm and smiling a private smile. It was enough to make him weak in the knees and Blurr rushed to his desk before they gave out. Maybe he wasn’t disappointed. Maybe he understood, allowed it. Allowed it, as if Blurr belonged to him.

Longarm took his place at the front of the class, shooting Blurr an almost imperceptible look, as if scanning the crowd, but Blurr could see, just momentarily, the flash of his dark tongue between his lips, optics flashing in almost a predatory manner. He melted.

“The second bell _has_ rung, everybody…”

The murmuring died, though only to a fault. Recognizing this was as good as he was going to get, Longarm turned to the board, underlining the day’s lesson plan. Despite being seated, Blurr worried he might tumble over anyways. It was ridiculous how quickly he was swinging back and forth between moods this week, first his excitement and embarrassment around Rodimus, and the intimate joys of being around Longarm in any capacity. Despite all this, he managed to hang onto the lecture fairly well and the class passed in its usual breezy fashion, Longarm’s melodious voice washing over him like the most pleasant of waves.

He was slow to pack up as things began to wind down, intentionally. He expected, hoped that Longarm would want to speak with him, even briefly. All thoughts of the weekend drizzled away as he glanced up and their optics met, the slightest of nods on his teacher’s part making him giddy. Holding his backpack to his chest, like a dizzy child, he approached the front desk, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Sir, could I speak with you a moment?”

Bulkhead and Bumblebee roughhoused a little too loudly on their way out and Longarm shot them a stern look before turning to appraise his student.

“Of course. You know that I am always willing to take some of your time.”

Feeling both overly pleased and somewhat foolish for it, Blurr stepped from foot to foot as though he were preparing for a race. Lowering his bag to the floor, he waited patiently until the last student had passed into the hallway and the door had shut before lunging forward, spilling papers across the desk as he pecked Longarm full on the mouth. He pulled back before it could turn into anything else, smiling at his feet.

“Well, well,” said Longarm, bemused as he glanced at the black paper covering the door window.

“I’m sorry I probably shouldn’t have done that I just, uhm-!”

Longarm reached across his now muddled grading and gently held Blurr’s hand.

“While I would prefer it if you did not show affection so recklessly, you do not need to be embarrassed for it. The feeling is mutual.”

He rubbed his thumb across the joint between Blurr’s forefinger and palm and a wave of tingles spread through his neural net.

“I-I-I know that Sir I just, I’m just very happy alrightIshouldprobablybegettingtomylastperiodnow!”

“Ah-ah-ah!”

Longarm held onto him tightly, preventing him from turning away.

“Will I see you after school?”

A thrill shot through him.

“Here? I mean, right after school? I-I have track practice until five.”

“That’s fine,” he murmured, words dripping with affection, “just come to my classroom when you’re done. I should be _alone._ ”

Unable to help himself, Blurr’s vents opened, a small cloud of steam forming around his head.

“okay Sir that sound’s really good I’ll be there I promise as soon as I’m done I-I’ll run right here no one will see or anything okay?”

Giving him a little squeeze before letting go, Longarm chuffed.

“Okay.”

Speeding into the hallway, Blurr powerwalked all the way to his next class, simply nodding off any of the teachers he passed who attempted to call out for him to slow down. He couldn’t slow down; time could not move fast enough. Not even Lockdown’s arguments with Prowl could liven up Philosophy for him, Yoketron’s droning making the nano-kliks on his chronometer crawl.

He shot into the hall at the moment the first bell rang, Yoketron’s indignant yell that the bell did not release him lost to the closing door behind him, and ran headfirst into Bumblebee.

“Woah, Speedy! Take it easy!”

He was as good humored and frustrating as ever. Blurr tried to step around him but Bumblebee stepped too.

“My name is not Speedy.”

“Speedy, Zippy, whatever.”

He shrugged dramatically, wide optics flashing with feigned innocence.

“I just wanted to ask, how’s you’re hand? Looked pretty nasty last time I saw it.”

He sniggered and it took Blurr a moment to remember that, yes, he had injured his hand last time they met. Looking down with a surprising amount of dissatattchment, he held up the limb in question, the make shift welding already beginning to flake as the wound closed beneath.

“Fine, wonderful, swell, healing right up, now if you’ll excuse me I have to go to my track meet-!”

“Oh, really? That’s cool, I mean I didn’t know you were in track but I probably coulda guessed, huh?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Finally managing to get around him, Blurr continued walking as briskly as he could without outright running from the bot, but unfortunately this allowed Bumblebee the opportunity to follow him. Which he very unfortunately accepted.

“You know, I always was pretty fast, you know, good at those kinds of things. I just don’t like being part of that pesky team, you know? I play by my own rules.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Actually, you know, I thought about trying out for track once. Its better I didn’t though. I mean, a team can only have one real star player, right Zippy?”

“That’s not technically true, actually-”

“Actually that reminds me, I mean, so like. I’m in a little bit of trouble and I was, eh, hoping you could help me out?”

“Trouble.”

“Yeah. Like. Okay, so you remember Wasp?”

“No.”

He spoke without thinking, but the moment the word left his mouth he paused.

“Actually, yes. I do. That kid who got suspended for cheating or whatever at the eighth grade field day? Or I guess for you it would have seen sixth grade wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee nodded emphatically, “yeah, him. Well see I was kinda involved in that and-”

“Hey, Bumbler, didn’t I tell you asking around was against the rules?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Wasp and his taller orange friend, Ironhilt, Blurr thought, popped out around the corner as if they had been waiting for them. Perhaps they had been. Bumblebee jumped out of his plating but Blurr managed to care just little enough to get away with a straight face.

“Are you following me?”

Bumblebee was clearly indignant.

“Well, duh.”

Wasp was apparently as snotty as he looked, crossing his arms over his chest as though he were posing for a portrait.

“Obviously you needed someone to ensure you wouldn’t cheat.”

His friend – Iron _hide!_ – chuckled lowly, the accent of Luna II thick on his breath.

“I wasn’t gonna ask him about that! What, you think I’m backing down from you?”

“I don’t _think_ , Bumbler, I _know_.”

Turning to Ironhide, Blurr raised an optical ridge. The quarterback tilted his chin up in a silent greeting, smacking gum between his chops. It seemed he was perfectly happy to watch the exchange, and didn’t seem to recognize how confusing and awkward this was becoming for an outsider.

It was that moment that Blurr realized, a little belatedly, that he was just standing there when really this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. With the echoes of some comment regarding Wasp’s elitism and Bumblebee’s idiocy following him in the emptying hallway, Blurr turned and booked it.

He ran and kept on running, so hyped up that he didn’t even mind the playful and not-so-playful verbal jabs aimed at him as he easily outpaced and overtook his teammates. Wheeljack tried to clap him on the back as the hour came to its end, but he missed and swung forward, nearly smacking Cheetor in the face. Blurr had no time for apologies or complaints and he was back in his day clothes and out the door before the others had even made it to the locker room.

Longarm was waiting for him, as promised. One leg crossed purposefully over the other, he sipped from a small mug of tea as he drew a red circle around something on a form in front of him. When Blurr propped the door open, knocking timidly, he slid the paper into a drawer in his desk and shut it smoothly but with intent, looking up with a wide smile as he locked it with a small key.

“Hello. Please shut the door behind you.”

By the time he finished his sentence Blurr had already shut the door, pushed a chair in front of it, and crossed to room to stand behind his desk, squirming where he stood as though his plating itched. Longarm leaned back in his seat, curling and arm up to his lip thoughtfully.

“Eager as always, I see.”

“Of course!” Blurr babbled before he could stop himself, “of course I’m excited to see you Sir I’ve been thinking about you all day I really mean that I mean wow I just. Hello.”

Longarm uncrossed his legs, setting them down with solid purpose around Blurr’s ankles.

“Sit.”

It was a command. Blurr’s mouth went dry. Without thinking, without questioning, he dropped to his knees, backpack falling to the floor beside the desk. Longarm leaned forward and put a hand on his helm, stroking gently around the base of his crest.

“ _Very_ good,” he murmured, and Blurr pressed up into the touch, optics wide. It was as if he were watching himself from afar, his body seeming to move on its own. It was done as if by instinct, the touch and posture alike feeling inexplicably right. A small chirr stirred in his throat, almost a question aimed at himself. Longarm laughed.

“Frag me!”

The words spilled out of him like vomit, having risen in his chest until they could no longer be contained.

“Please Sir please frag me I really really really want to!”

Longarm’s petting stopped.

“Blurr, we talked about this, did we not?”

He could not be dissuaded, trembling with the force of his plead.

“I-I mean, I can make you feel so good, I want to, so badly, if you would just spike me you would see-!”

Longarm cut him off with a look.

“I don’t know, Blurr, do you think you’re worthy of my spike just yet?”

The very idea sent a bolt of heat straight from Blurr’s spark to his extremities, other worldly and lifting, making him light headed for a moment. He managed to retain enough self-control to remain perfectly still and calm where he sat, hands twisting in his lap.

“…no.”

“That’s right.”

Longarm pulled his seat forward, spreading his thighs wider, an intentional tease of his denial.

“I still have yet to see proof that you are disciplined or well-motivated enough for that kind of special treatment.”

All at once, shame, dark and poisonous, stabbed through Blurr’s core. He slumped forwards, hugging himself to Longarm’s leg, lips pressingly firmly against his boot.

“Oh, sir!” he cried, wrapped in guilt, “I can be better, I can do better, I promise!”

Seeming hardly shocked by the display of desperation, Longarm sighed.

“Can you?” “I can, I can! I can be so good!”

Blurr broke off into high whines as he began kissing around Longarm’s foot sloppily, feeling that his life depended on the acceptance he hoped to garner from the action. His spark sank as the boot turned on him, pushing him away unkindly.

“First you beg for my approval, then you attempt to take it for yourself? Who told you you were permitted to take such liberties?”

Pressing his forehead into the linoleum, Blurr shook with grief.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so, I’m so, so, sorry!”

Above him, he could hear Longarm stand, but he didn’t dare move. Contents shifted in a bag. Blurr could only hope this was a good thing.

“Because I am kind, I will give you one last chance.”

Relief hit him like a flood. Before he had the chance to launch into the usual tirade of gratitude, Longarm continued.

“Get up, over the desk. Pants down. Present yourself.”

Scrambling to comply, Blurr fought to curb his enthusiasm. This wasn’t about him. He needed to be good for Longarm, just like he’d promised. Wrapping himself in a shroud of concentration, Blurr bent over the desk, panels parting. He was so wet already, probably too much so, and the cold air of the classroom made him shiver. Longarm hummed contemplatively behind him.

He did not expect praise, nor did he get any. The task was too simple. Still, the long silence brought an extra tint of fear to his mind.

Something nudged the lip of his valve. It was not fingers. It was not a spike, either, but it was definitely not fingers. Something cold, too cold, and synthetic. Plastic, blunt and hard. He shifted his hips back ever so slightly, hoping to open himself better to Longarm’s desires.

“Do you know what this is, Blurr?”

A hand settled heavily on his back, holding him in place. Face buried in the sleeves of his hoodie, Blurr shook his head.

“No sir.”

The object kept pushing, spreading between the folds of his valve to press insistently against the opening. It was larger than anything Longarm had deigned to put in him before, but not so large as to be excessively painful. More than a few fingers, certainly. The lack of preparation should have made it more difficult than it was; his spread calipers and slick nodes a clear sign of how whorishly devoted he was to pleasing Longarm. It earned him a small chuckle.

“It is clear that you don’t care regardless.”

 “I-if it’s what you want, sir, how I feel doesn’t m-matter.”

He was amazed at how easily the words came to him. Longarm made a soft noise.

“You do not think I am so cruel as to completely disregard your feelings, do you?”

Gasping as the object began, finally, to tip inside him, Blurr again shook his head.

“No at all, sir! No, no, that isn’t what I, ah, no sir you are so good to me and so kind and perfect I didn’t mean that that way at all, ahh…”

It slid inside him in one long push. Blurr’ thighs strained, pushing up until he balanced on the tips of his toe pieces, hands clamping over his mouth to muffle a wail. Pleased by his reaction, Longarm pet his back soothingly.

“You do carry such light sports equipment these days.”

All at once it came to him, a flash of terror and back breakingly potent pleasure blending into one as he realized the object Longarm had so carefully slid inside him was his own water bottle; thinner, lighter variant from the usual brand (thankfully) fitting just perfectly within his valve. Even now he recognized the cold slosh of the liquid inside moving, shifting the weight inside him until he rippled, smooth enough to keep from damaging him, but he would never have thought, never have considered using it in such a way.

“Oh, Sir!”

He knew he should be horrified by the wanton lilt of his voice, but he could feel nothing but rapture in the revelation. This degradation of himself and his personal properties, the proof that he and all he owned were merely tools for Longarm’s pleasure, gave him nothing but ecstasy, and his mouth fell open in a deep moan.

Pushing the bottle in extra hard for good measure, Longarm purred happily.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Blurr tried his best not to squirm, the small measure of praise reflecting indefinitely in his mind. All was not lost. He could do this.

Pulling away, Longarm again shifted around behind him. It was easier to ignore now that he had something to distract him, the water bottle warming slowly inside his valve filling the bill nicely. Still, he worried, and wondered, burning slowly as the time passed. His fretting over his state of continued usefulness to Longarm was still a heavy darkness in the forefront of his processor, and the mixture of fear and lust for further punishment tingled in his circuits. The hand on his spine continued to soothe up and down, moving lower and lower on his aft until it was skirting lightly around his straining valve.

“Ah. Here we are.”

Blurr hardly had time to question the affirmative before something hard and flat slammed down on his aft. He jumped, screeching in shock, but hardly had time to recoil before the sharp pain slammed down again, and again. Launching forward against the desk, he clenched down hard, not entirely meaning to, and the water bottle shifted again inside of him, slipping out a pinch.

The blows stopped.

“Now, Blurr, that won’t do at all.”

The bottle was shoved back in sharply. Blurr bit down on his sleeve.

“Here is how this is going to work: you are going to accept your punishment willingly and actively until I decide whether or not I should be wasting my time with you. If you let this water bottle drop, I will leave you like this.”

Gasping harshly, Blurr straightened his thighs. It was a harsh thing to have said, but there was a playful note in his voice too. He knew better, Blurr reasoned. It was just a game.

“You only have one chance, Blurr. Try and do your best.”

He started nodding but was bowled forward as another smack bit roughly into his upper thigh. This time, though, he was slightly better prepared, bracing himself against the table’s surface as Longarm began to again build up the intentionally punishing pace with what could only be assumed was a meter stick. It only took five more strikes for Blurr to cry out, seven before he was yelping and whining with each new blow, ten before he was a drooling mess.

Though not much actual damage was being done, the continuous stimulation was overloading his receptors, too centered to dissipate properly before the next swipe would light them up again. The growing agony was the backfire of his nerve circuitry, unable to handle the repeated, sharp nips of pain as they covered the same blanket surface of his behind over and over again. He would hardly be dented after this, but the explosion of information crowding his processor almost left him momentarily blind.

Bouncing between his heels and the tips of his toes, his hips rocked back into the movements, welcoming each smack eagerly. Longarm had been right; it was kind of him to offer Blurr this chance. Unprecedentedly kind. Who else would have been so forgiving in the face of his selfishness? Blurr could not think of a single person in his life who had shown him half the acceptance and joy as his teacher, certainly none who would allow him to return after such a transgression as blatant avoidance.

Something clicked together in his mind. Like the epiphany of his own inherent belonging to Longarm, it brought a great blossom of bliss to his spark, prompting him to push his hips back even higher, calculate his hold on the bottle better. Pleasure, pure and molten, dripped through his chassis, electrifying every spank and magnifying the pressure tenfold. His valve trembled, all his willpower being devoted solely to the task of keeping the bottle tight but not forcing it out. The relaxed state of his posture left him particularly vulnerable, allowing the full magnitude of the damage to his backside to make itself known, until the stress and pain nearly drove Blurr out of his mind.

He had never felt a greater bliss.

“Spread your legs a little more,” and Blurr did without question, gasping out a sob as another blow landed so close the sting spread up through his valve. Of course, that was already burning, the effort of holding still, the unprepared stretch around the bottle, thin as it was; it was too much, and he was fading fast. Pixels crept into the corners of his vision as he tried not to lose control, thin strands of drool escaping his parted lips.

“Ah,” Longarm breathed, looking him over as he delivered more pain than Blurr could honestly grasp, “you look perfect like this.”

Blurr came, biting his sleeve with a mouth full of spit just in time to cover his wail. Longarm pulled away completely, but it didn’t matter, his hips shaking back as the water bottle sloshed around inside him, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the desk, displacing Longarm’s plaque, unsettling his potted cacti. He knew he was making a mess of himself, that hot lubricant was leaking down his legs and likely staining the insides of his shorts, still tight around his knees, but he could hardly think to care, hardly think at all.

His legs crumpled beneath him and he fell, not entirely flat on the floor but down the desk, his face catching painfully on the metallic drawer knobs. He braced himself against it, trying to ventilate, trying to catch his mind and put it back where it belonged. His legs were wet, his pants were wet. He was so filthy. His backside ached.

A panic began to build inside him, strong and fierce as he realized what he had done. Not only had he broken away from Longarm, his teacher, but he had overloaded before the game had ended. He had failed.

“Very good, Blurr.”

His spark stopped.

“S-sir?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to turn and look. Longarm moved behind him, and then a hand, gentle this time, fell on his shoulder.

“You seem so troubled for someone who has succeeded in a difficult task.”

He did move then, optics meeting Longarm’s with confused sincerity. But Longarm wasn’t the type to lie to him for his own cruel amusement, not the kind of bot who would build Blurr up just to watch him fall, and his smile was kind.

“Blurr,” he said again, and Blurr jumped as the hand on his shoulder slid down to cup the bottle still firmly grasped in his array, “you have passed.”

Then his fingers wrapped around the bottle, turned it once, and ripped it from within him. Still incredibly sensitive, still tingling with pain, Blurr yelped, hips bucking into nothing as a rush of previously blocked lubricants spilled out to soak him anew. He was such a shameless mess.

“So I… I earned staying? With you, I mean, not, not here…”

Longarm opened a drawer in his desk above, a different one than before, looking terrifically pleased.

“Oh, I believe you have earner a little more than that.”

He tossed Blurr a packet of wet wipes but continued to root about. It took Blurr longer than it should have to recognize their purpose, and then he moved far too hastily to comply, smacking his elbow against the desk and sucking air between his teeth in shock.

“Ah, here we are.”

Blurr was only just finishing up what he could, underpants definitely ruined. He couldn’t go home bottomless, however, and with a wince and a hiss he pulled his wet shorts over his stinging aft.

“Stand up, back to me.”

The tone was far more conversational and Blurr, sated in every sense of the word, stood with less desperate speed than usual. His thighs trembled noticeably, every shift of the tight cloth against his throbbing protoform sending another zing of angry data to his core. Longarm purred behind him, hands coming to rest on either side of his neck.

He was holding something, and with careful movements he curled whatever it was around Blurr’s throat. It was tight, though not uncomfortably. There was a bit of tugging as Longarm connected the back, but then he pulled away and it fell comfortably against Blurr’s cording. He refrained from touching it, waiting for a sign of confirmation.

“Oh, Blurr.”

Longarm’s voice was full of emotion.

“You look wonderful.”

He allowed himself to be turned and stared into Longarm’s pale optics. He was proud, really, genuinely proud. It made Blurr’s spark swell with desire all over again, and whatever he had been planning on saying died on the tip of his tongue.

Longarm held up a hand mirror, and Blurr could not stop himself then from bringing his hands up to touch himself in wonder.

It was a collar. Made from some kind of leather, it was clearly new but not at all stiff, a dull, dark brown worked to softness. The front had a series of small connections ending with a single silver loop of metal that hung down against his chest, heavy enough to feel, just above the rising curve of his breast.

“Sir!”

Tenderness choked his throat, and he felt faint. Longarm took his face in one hand, rubbing slow fingers along his cheek.

“I am so glad you like it, Blurr. You deserve it.”  

He wore it all the way home, limping as he was. His shorts chafed and stung his backside but every zing of pain was a reminder of his blessing, and every klik he found himself reaching inside the collar of his hoodie to again stroke his throat, feel the material there. He found himself on his doorstep and could not even remember the walk.

Collapsing face first onto his bed, he bunched his blankets up around his face and crowed into it, kicking his legs up and down into the mattress until his entire body bounced. He couldn’t concentrate on anything and ended up passing out several hours later in front of the television, two films in to a marathon of whatever fluffy sap he could find that could hold his attention without requiring it. His dreams were wild and dark and sensual and he awoke several times in the night, migrating from the couch to the shower and then to his bed.

All through the night the little red light on his answering machine blinked, waiting patiently to convey its message.


	6. Led by the Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus takes Blurr out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke my oath. This chapter has very little allusions to porn at all. Enjoy!

“Aw, sleepyhead, did I wake you?”

Blurr rolled onto his side, groaning loudly into the phone, and Rodimus laughed again.

“Dude, it’s, like, noon.”

“Some of us tend to enjoy the weekend for what it is instead of seeing every opportunity as one to flaunt our infuriatingly good ability to one-up everyone.”

“Pfft.”

It was cooler than he would have liked in the room. Blurr wondered idly as he untangled his feet from the sheets if he had left a window open. It was unlikely, but the air smelled of dew and wind and cut grass. He could hear Rodimus shifting a bit through the receiver and was surprised by how easy it was to imagine the flash of his silver teeth as he produced yet another award winning grin.

“It’s always better to go to the matinee. There’s never any screaming kids or teenagers there.”

“I wonder why.”

The bandages were starting to unseal from his hand and it itched terribly. Holding the phone between his shoulder and his audio receptor, Blurr swung his legs off the bed and strode into the bathroom with a gait that hid well his still foggy head, scratching at his palm.

“So, you wanna go or what?”

“What do you want to see? I don’t even know what movies are out right now. It’s been a very long time since I went to the theater.”

“I dunno,” Rodimus seemed a little nervous, “we’ll figure it out when we get there.”

Blurr did not answer at first, not for lack of words but because when he caught sight of himself in the mirror he was, for a moment, captivated. The hand previously preoccupied with picking pieces of the temporary sealant away from his mostly healed wound flew to his throat, where still the plushness of the collar lay. With the same swiftness a bolt of heat shot down to his groin, warming his paneling instantly, a kind of surreal daze of sensation blocking his mind from proceeding.

Rodimus coughed a bit.

“Yeah, that sounds fine.”

Blurr took the phone in his hand again.

“But you have to give me a klik to get dressed, if you don’t mind.”

That earned him a chuckle.

“Well I suppose showing up naked _would_ probably earn us a few stares. Alright, I’ll be over in ten.”

The line cut. Scoffing at the lack of proper goodbyes, Blurr turned his optics to his own reflection again, fingers still tight around the loop ring at the front of the collar.

He was in so deep.

He had to take it off before Rodimus arrived. He knew that, and yet the thought tugged at his spark in the most childish of ways. Doctor Longarm had given this to him. He’d earned it. It was so hard to separate the reality of his situation with the fantasy he found himself caught up in, the slow burn that had begun to beat behind his panels. He’d taken it off to shower already but even the chafe marks against his throat could not make its removal feel right. Swallowing the odd grief, Blurr stripped off his night clothes, finally, almost shamefully, undoing the buckle at the side of his collar and placing the leather on the counter by the sink, almost reverently.

Washing up, he tried to keep his gaze from straying back. He had only just started hanging out with Rodimus; he was not going to make himself out to be even more of a recluse by showing up in what was clearly more than a fashion accessory. The day was nippy but not enough to merit heavier clothing than his usual hoodie, and after a few quick checks to ensure he had gotten whatever grit had settled in his seams overnight clear, he was by the door.

Of course, Rodimus was not prompt. Ten kliks came and went and Blurr found himself tempted to ruin his appetite for whatever junk food he would be consuming at the theater by having an actual healthy breakfast. Meandering into the kitchen, he kept a sharp optic on the window, the sun reflecting blades of light across the drying lawn. There were several things he could make in a pinch but he found himself slowed by indecision. He didn’t like waiting. As someone who was prompt, if not early, always, it was uncomfortable for him to be stuck on someone else’s watch because there was no way of knowing if he had time to occupy himself or not before they arrived. While he didn’t blame Rodimus more than he could blame anyone, he found himself growing antsy, actively keeping from touching his neck.

Slapping at his palm and then wincing at the unpleasant feeling of more of the bandage detaching, he turned to the garbage pail by the calendar, intent of scraping off what of the metal mesh he could, when he caught the light on the message machine flickering a dull red.

“This is a message from the Lower Sextuplant School District Board.”

Principal Magnus’s voice was booming and dominant even through whatever grainy recording device had been used, but there was a quieter air to it than when he was addressing a crowd as Blurr was used to. Sure this was some sort of warning about midterms or reminder regarding the upcoming bake sale, Blurr huffed his vents, turning back to the window.

“I am afraid to report that there has been an unfortunate occurrence among our student body. Our freshman Wasp of the Upper Third Batch from year six-six-twelve-eight-nine has gone missing. As you know from prior messages, this is not the first report of a vanished pupil we have had this quarter.”

Blurr’s attention was back on the machine. It was true, there had been an earlier call, just the second week of school, about one of the seniors, Rubix or Rosie or something, but she had always been considered a trouble maker and everyone just assumed she’d dropped out. While Blurr knew firsthand how bothersome Wasp’s attitude could be, he was one of the more studious and pretentiously law abiding of the freshmen classes.

“He was reported missing yesterday evening when a fellow student reported him as having been approached by a dark green van of unknown make while walking home and then ailing to reappear from behind it. While the abduction was not actually seen suspicion was aroused and Wasp has not returned to his home as of seven thirty six, while I record this message. He is described as being a dull blue-green with yellow accents, blue optics, and a jaw guard, build type 65356-9292-346. If you have any information regarding his whereabouts-”

The bang on the door was so sudden and loud that Blurr actually screamed, flinging his hands up and stumbling over his own feet as his flight protocols activated without a full understanding of the situation. He could hear Rodimus’s laugher even through the door.

“You slag sucking gear head.”

It wasn’t even an accusation, Rodimus practically crumpling in on himself as Blurr flung the front door open.

“Th-that’s how you- fraggin’ Blurr, you sound like somebody shoved a fork up your spike housing!”

Trudging down the steps, Blurr locked his front door with more force than necessary, only to get the key stuck for a moment and stand there tugging at it like an idiot. Rodimus was still laughing, that slagger. Blurr turned and considered him.

“Did you get the phone call from school? From Ultra Magnus?”

“Ah-ah-ah!”

Rodimus, seemingly unconcerned, straightened out.

“No school talk now! This is the weekend. I know it’s a hard concept to grasp but bear with me.”

Blurr crossed his arms, a small smile peeking from behind his dour mood.

“I’m just asking because-”

“No!”

Rodimus grasped his sleeve and shook him.

“No school!”

He pushed him down the rest of the walkway, even as Blurr attempted to chatter on, and up to the passenger side door of his car. In the light of high noon its finish sparkled with even more luster than before. Submitting to his fate, Blurr ducked inside the cabin and buckled himself in, kicking a few cans out of the way sourly. Rodimus swung in and patted him on the shoulder, grinning like the fool he was.

“Party time.”

They nearly hit the gate on the way out.

If there was one thing that could be said for their friendship so far it was that Blurr was the perfect person to put in Rodimus’s passenger seat. Though he did experience some amount of worry at Rodimus’s driving skills he had no problems at all with the speed. The window was cracked and he rolled it the rest of the way down, sticking his head out to smell the air like a dog. Everything smelled wet and decayed, as autumn often did, but there was enough sun left to leave bake the leaves as they fell and crawl across the sidewalks in visible waves. There were pens on the floor and papers in the door pocket. Slumping back in his seat, Blurr peered through the clutter.

“you know the quality of this car’s niceness is lost a little bit once you actually get inside and see what a mess you’ve left it to be, just saying, it could use a bit of a vacuum I think.”

“Don’t tell me how to run my life.”

They swerved around a corner.

“So, what do you like?”

Rodimus winked at him.

“Romance? Action? Gore flick?”

Blurr made a small sound of disinterest.

“it really depends on what specifically the movie is I can’t just make a decision based on something as vague as genre I mean there are some horror films that are awful and some that are great I can’t just say oh I like horror because that makes it sound like I enjoy everything the concept envelops and I don’t.”

“Primus.”

Rodimus snickered again.

“How often do you wear your vocalizer out?”

A little peeved, Blurr tugged at his hoodie.

“I was made this way thank you very much.”

With a little cursory sniff in Rodimus’s direction, he squinted his optics.

“How often do you get punched in the teeth for laughing at everything?”

They blazed into the cinema parking lot, Rodimus just about beaning a parked vehicle as he leaned over to bop Blurr on the shoulder.

“Aft.”

As predicted there was next to no one at the theater. Rodimus parked, badly, and they jogged up the steps pushing verbally and physically at one another until they reached the ticket counter. It was shortly after Blurr had overcome his doubts about how much contact Rodimus was comfortable with that he realized they had never even picked a film.

“What do you have showing at,” Rodimus paused a klik, beeping twice as he checked his internal chronometer, “twelve forty five? Or around then.”

“Rodimus!” Blurr hissed, but the cashier was already pulling up a list.

“Mm,” Rodimus considered, glancing at Blurr through humor slitted optics, “two for this.”

He pointed. Blurr stuttered.

“D-don’t buy me things without even telling me what they are or checking to see if I have money because I do I don’t expect you to get me everything what is this what are you planning what the hell!”

Rodimus grabbed the tickets from the startled looking cashier and tugged him inside the lobby before he could complain more.

“You want popcorn? I do. I’m getting popcorn.”

As frustratingly confused as this entire event was Blurr couldn’t help but smile. Rodimus was trying hard, too hard, but he was trying. It was hard to watch another person’s excitement without sharing in it. He could pay Rodimus back later anyways.

“Soda?”

“Everyone going to the theater gets a soda. Of course I would like one.” Blurr bit his lip. “Please.”

It was weird. It was one big mess of weird and Blurr was honestly happy to be tangled up in it. Rodimus made him cover his optics when they approached the theater so he wouldn’t see the film name on the marker. The inside was completely empty so they took their time choosing seats, Rodimus making him go all the way up to the screen and stand on the stage front, looking back into the darkened camera room. It was the first time he’s ever been at this end of a theater and he had to admit it was a little mind blowing despite the seemingly bland difference between staring in one direction of a room to staring at the other.

It wasn’t until the local commercials for house painting and truck dealerships switched off to the actual pre show ads that Blurr began to get an idea of what he was in for.

“Rated R for sexuality and mild violence.”

Rodimus was throwing pieces of popcorn in the air and catching them about half the time.

“Is this a romantic comedy? Did you take me to a _date film?”_

“Maybe.”

The next preview began with a close up of two bots kissing. Blurr stole a large handful of popcorn and said, “You fragging jerk.”

Rodimus blew him a kiss.

“What can I say? Turntable is hot.”

“Turntable is in this? Like starring in this film?”

Blurr sat back in his chair.

“I guess that’ll do then.”

Even with his predisposition for the romances of another Blurr was not incapable of appreciating the beauty of a famous frame. The previews took longer than he would have liked but when the film started it started off well. Turntable liked his intimate scenes. Rodimus elbowed him stupidly. It was a good film, all things considered. As the first thirty kliks rolled by he was able to relax more, the tapping of his toes the only restless movement in his frame. Being as vapid as it was, the film allowed room for his mind to wander as he took in the thin plot, the actor’s strife and passion a mellow background to his thoughts.

Rodimus was a good friend. Yes, so far all they had done was drive around and kick at each other like hatchlings, but he was so at ease with it. Blurr knew he tended to be high strung and this was a revelation, to be as comfortable around someone as this with little to no reason for it. Even if on occasion they rubbed one another the wrong way it never seemed to interrupt whatever good thing they had going. He didn’t want them to. This was a nice break from whatever he had been doing beforehand. Lusting after his teacher alone in the back of the classroom.

The thought made him tug at the strings of his hoodie inadvertently, looking for a little metal ring that wasn’t there. It had only been one night. Stupid.

On the screen Turntable was begging his love not to leave despite him having discovered the undercurrent of deception in their relationship. He was staring just to the left of the camera, optics dulling to a painful shade of pastels, teeth sharp and clean. Blurr drummed his fingers against his bare thigh, suddenly uncomfortable. Rodimus was staring up at the screen, face a genuine mask of concentration, but Blurr felt a little lost. He had never been very good at sitting through anything, energy rolling inside his stomach, but there was a different edge to his nerves this time. Plucking at the seams of his shorts, Blurr tried to focus on the flick. It was not easy.

“You okay?”

Rodimus’s voice was loud in the dark and Blurr immediately looked through the empty theater as if expecting reprimand.

“Uh,” he forced a smile, “yeah, sorry. I have a lot of, you know; nervous energy and I tap sometimes. I’ll try to stop.”

Tilting his helm, Rodimus gauged him a bit. It was interesting how quickly his focus could switch between two things and still remain laser fine. Blurr had to admit he admired it.

“No you’re not. I mean yeah but it’s not just that, is it.”

Blurr kicked the chair in front of him a bit.

“I know you didn’t want to talk about school but that call from Principal Magnus was really weird.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket and bunched the soft fabric of his jacket between his fingers.

“I mean I was just talking to Wasp yesterday, like, a cycle before he went missing. I’ve never really known that to happen to someone before, someone I knew. Do you think he was really kidnapped?”

The word felt frightening on his tongue. Rodimus seemed to harden in his seat.

“Well, Mags said they don’t know. His friend was walking home with him and when they crossed the street he kind of vanished after a van passed. It was, like, really fast. Wasp is a weird kid. No one really knows.”

It was clearly not a satisfying answer and Blurr lowered his gaze, almost angry at himself for ruining the mood. There was more kissing on the big screen. The silence held for a little while between them, not exactly awkward but certainly heavy. Rodimus leaned over a bit.

“I’m not gonna say something about how he’ll be fine or whatever because I have no idea, but you can’t just dwell on that slag, you know?”

At that Blurr sighed, nodding. It was true. There was nothing his worry would do for Wasp or for himself. Uncurling, he leaned back against the seat, looking at Rodimus through slanted optics.

“It’s just weird I guess. You hear about that kind of thing happening in big cities like Iacon and Kaon and you don’t really think anything of it because, you know, those are different places far away where crime happens all the time and you don’t know anyone there personally and even if you do you don’t think it’s going to happen to them. But sometimes it does. You don’t expect it to but it does.”

Rodimus looked back at the screen.

“Yeah.”

He was struggling for something else to say but Blurr didn’t hold it against him. It wasn’t the kind of thing words could fix. As it was neither of them had been personally wronged. Biting his lip, Blurr could think of nothing to say to abate the rift in their mood he’d caused.

Rodimus grabbed his arm.

“Hey.”

His optics were deep. Surrounded by the atmosphere he had created, Blurr watched him, lips parting. Leaning in, Rodimus breathed heavily.

“You want the rest of the popcorn? I think I ate too much.”

Blurr gaped. Rodimus poked his nose.

“Settle down, dude.”

Words of wisdom if he’d ever heard them. Picking up the half full bag of popcorn (he’d told Rodimus a large was too much) he set about demolishing the rest. Rodimus was easing back into his seat, optics on the film, though Blurr didn’t doubt his peripheral vision was set at maximum capacity. Behind a mouthful of salt and butter he breathed more easily, shoulders sagging. On the screen, Turntable lifted his chosen beau and kissed them fully on the facemask as the music swelled.

On the ride home the tension had lifted. Rodimus played the radio loudly and sung along, voice cracking and flat and priding in it. Blurr shoved at him to stop until he pushed a little too hard and the car swerved dangerously in the road, making them both scream a little louder than their egos cared for. Light and breezy, Blurr let his arm hang out the window and catch the wind, watching the distant clouds of vapor and gas twist purple signs in the sky.

“Where do you wanna go now?”

Rodimus drummed his fingers on the wheel as he slowed to a stop at the next light. There was almost no one on the roads, the day in high noon when the suns shined the hottest. Shrugging, Blurr kicked his feet into the dusty carpet.

“Where do you spend time normally with friends? Or by yourself I guess, I don’t think the situation really matters much if you enjoy your time spent doing whatever it is you do.”

Humming, Rodimus looked out the window.

“I dunno. Stuff. What do you do? You’re like, by yourself all the time.”

In a moment of quiet dumbness Blurr could not remember what it was he occupied his time with. Study, running, watching TV. They were all viable options but seemed terribly mundane at the moment, the kind of dull living you didn’t want to admit to when faced with plans for adventure from someone as openly active as Rodimus. Blurr bristled a bit, staring at his hands. The only thing out of the ordinary he had been doing, for the past week at least, was jerking off and getting fingered by his teacher before passing out at home like a limp noodle. Cowed by the thought, he was suddenly embarrassed all over again, picking at the lint on his hoodie.

“I don’t really do anything special or out of the ordinary or whatever. Just hang around mostly. Mostly.”

He laughed a bit, mentally slapping himself for how unhinged he sounded. He as cut from his internal degradation when Rodimus suddenly jerked the wheel left, probably against traffic law, and turned down a side street. Jumping, Blurr grasped the door handle.

“What – why – where are we going?”

Rodimus gave him a look, optics bright.

“You’ll see.”

They were heading into the downtown area, and Blurr could not for the life of him think of what the hell Rodimus had on his mind. There was little down here for people of their age; most of the storefronts boasted cheap insurance and lawyers for accident trials. Rodimus was humming, pointedly not looking at him as he failed to stifle the humored look on his lips. Blurr was half temped to push the question but the idea of a surprise, though normally unpleasant to him, meant something else hen presented by a friend. Continuing to scrutinize their surroundings in hope of a clue, he held his tongue.

The pulled up into the parking lot of a little strip mall near the edge of the downtown shopping district. Blurr had never been there personally but remembered having been driven past it before. There was a shelled out kiosk in the middle of the lot that had once been a drive through for homemade burritos. It was empty now but he remembered the manikin it had advertised with before, and how it’s mechanical arms had twirled a cheap sign. He had always found it immensely off-putting. Now there was nothing, but the memory made his optics flicker a lighter shade.

“Come on, come on.”

Rodimus unlocked the doors and swung out onto the tarmac, tapping on the windshield to break Blurr from his reverie. Following him, Blurr turned away from the empty kiosk and looked up at the brightly painted door sign before them.

“An arcade?”

He flushed his bio lights.

“I would be more surprised but after having known you for even a cycle I probably couldn’t say I was with true honesty. How often do you come here and with who else? It looks dead. I mean I see the open sign but I’m surprised something like this is even still in business since the teen appeal stores moved in town six years ago and none of us were able to travel out here by ourselves even back then, though I’m not saying we are the first generation of offspring in like sixty years or something.”

Rodimus rushed past him and held the door open, the scent of hot dogs and glass cleaner wafting out of the dark hall and into the sun baked cement.

“I come here by myself, mostly. It’s kind of nice because it’s so, you know, out there.”

There was a distinct sense of intimacy to the sentence and Blurr had the sudden realization that he was being given a leg of trust that probably no one else in their school had been given. The burden was oddly nice to carry. Allowing the darkness to envelope him, Blurr stepped into the neon atmosphere.

“You’re gonna like this, I swear,” said Rodimus, and he tugged on Blurr’s sleeve again, fingers lightly brushing the back of his hand.

“Maybe I will,” Blurr tugged back, optics narrow and playful, “but I certainly hope you enjoy getting made to mop the floor. I’m a fast learner.”

“Made to mop the floor? If you mangle me as well as you did that insult we’ll be in business.”

Wrapping his fingers around the greasy handle of a joystick, Blurr forgot Wasp and Longarm and the strip of leather waiting on his sink at home and allowed himself, for the first time in months, to not overthink it.


	7. Heads and Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr gets continually loopier and Longarm is no help at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Xmas or other holidays to all you lovely people out there! Stay strong and stay warm.

Monday. When Blurr stepped into the school it was as if he had entered a dream. It wasn’t that everything seemed surreal, because Blurr had had enough of that in the past week to get over it, but that everything was so changed from the past few months, years even, that it was hard to process. He was no stranger to the excited thirst for learning, nor the palpitations of his spark at the thought of seeing Dr. Longarm, but now there was an extra weight behind it.

It was solidified when Rodimus jumped up behind and him wrapped an arm around his neck, hanging off his shoulders as though he needed the support.

“Heyyyy!”

Blurr had to brace himself against his locker to take the extra weight, but he smiled easily.

“Are you here to beg for mercy after I so thoroughly destroyed your aft at the arcade? Because I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

Rodimus dropped off him, putting on a deeply wounded face.

“You monster! You said no one would know about the aft-destroying bit!”

 It was easy in a way no relationship had ever been for him before. He felt himself glide through every interaction and was almost awed at how he handled it, at how no one asked him to repeat himself or questioned his logic and intelligence. It didn’t seem like such a tall order to fill, in retrospect, but it was still surprising how few fit the bill.

Speaking of which.

“Good morning.”

Doctor Longarm was standing outside his classroom, monitoring the halls in an entirely normal way, but Blurr’s spark nearly stopped upon seeing him.

“Good morning, sir.”

Rodimus had been saying something, but he heard nothing of it. Longarm was clean cut and his smile seemed so fresh. Blurr grasped the straps of his backpack and held them tightly, worried that if he didn’t find some way to occupy his hands he might do something stupid. His teacher waved, slowly, and he felt his optics dim with pleasure.

“Move your aft, kid.”

Blackarachnia pushed past him so hard he nearly toppled over, ignoring Longarm’s kind look and swaying over to take her seat and read, a few admirers following to their own places and pretending they were there for other reasons. Rodimus started to laugh but began to choke on his own spit.

“WH-what the frag was that!”

He waved off the admonishing sigh from Longarm ushering Blurr down the hall again.

“I, I got distracted I guess. Monday, you know?”

That sounded so lame. Blurr shoved his hands in his pocket, fingering the wrapper of a mint he had forgotten to thrown out. Rodimus seemed to buy it, though, launching back into whatever he had been speaking of, but Blurr’s attention was kay behind. His shoulder blades itched with the knowledge of what lay between them, sloppily hidden beneath an extra shirt at the bottom of his backpack so the tag wouldn’t jingle. Blurr swallowed thickly and smiled as Rodimus gave an expectant laugh.

It wasn’t a particularly busy week, so he didn’t have much to worry about. There had been some minor homework he had managed to do over the weekend even in his dreamlike state between blabbing with Rodimus and laying on his bed wearing Longarm’s gift. For a year in his high school experience that had begun so slowly, everything was suddenly tumbling down in an avalanche of emotional and physical experience.

Basically, he was screwed.

He loved it.

There wasn’t much else to be said for Monday. Rodimus talked his receptors off but he countered with more than equal effect for half the effort, and Longarm touched his hand when passing out a print out in class. After school he had track and Rodimus met up with him to get unhealthy drinks and kick pebbles down the freeway. Tuesday he did meet with his teacher after track let out but they had hardly begun to kiss when a call on Dr. Longarm’s private cell separated them and cut their liaison short. Longarm apologized profusely and Blurr waved him off with bashful glances but he could not deny being furiously jealous, nor that when he went home he jammed himself full of fingers and came all over the bathroom floor several times.

Wednesday was different because they had an assembly about Wasp. It was surprisingly explicit regarding the fact that he was gone, although Blurr noticed a distinct lack of details. Ironhide, an actual witness to the crime, was not even asked to speak. Blurr could see him, after some scanning the crowd, looking despondent in a batch of freshmen near the front of the stands. He tried to elbow Rodimus, who had snuck away from his class to sit with him, but his optics were on the principal as he adjusted the mic stand and spoke about safety and responsibility and how anyone with any information should step forward.

“You’d think they were framing this as a runaway case,” Blurr whispered during a lull in the talk, when Magnus had asked if anyone had questions and so the entire room had shut silent.

“They kind of are.”

Blurr gave his friend a sharp look and Rodimus shrugged again.

“It’s not that they’re denying what Ironhide saw, but they’ve asked everyone to keep on the down low about it, even after that phone call. I’m not supposed to know. _You’re_ not supposed to know. I mean, officially.”

“What about Ironhide?”

“I dunno.”

He kicked the stands and made the sophomore in front of them shoot him a glare.

“Maybe they paid him off.”

It was meant as a joke but he delivered it like an admission. Blurr watched Rodimus’s optics dim and wondered what Ultra Magnus was like in private.

It was Thursday when he finally saw Dr. Longarm in private again. It was a bit of a stretch to go to his classroom after track, but his teacher had been making eyes at him whenever their paths conspicuously crossed in the halls all day and Blurr felt he should at least try for it. He was not entirely wrong. He practically threw open the door and found his beloved teacher staring hard at his computer, the information for some school document buzzing in the blue light.

“Ah!”

“Hello, sir, are you free? Can I see you now? Because I’ve been missing you an awful lot, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Longarm turned away from his monitor.

“I am indeed free to see you, my dear.”

Overly affected by the pet name, Blurr swayed a little closer, taking his bag off his shoulders.

“I-I-I’m so glad,” he stuttered, opening his backpack and digging through it, “ _sir._ I have this. I brought it every day, because, well, because I am so happy to-to have it. _”_

The collar had retained its shape despite being stuffed under his sweater every day for a week, partially because he had been wearing it at home. He held it up between his fingers as though it were an offering, despite it being his own gift from his teacher. Longarm beamed.

“Put it on.”

It was better than any other response he could have given. Blurr fumbled but managed to get the thing around his neck with embarrassing swiftness, and Longarm’s optics narrowed in a playful understanding of exactly how much practice he had gotten with the clasp in the past week. He turned from the desk, knees together as he patted his lap.

“You look beautiful. Come here.”

Blurr did as told, glowing with praise. Spreading his thighs shyly he straddled Longarm’s lap, leaning in to accept a soft, loving embrace. Warmth flooded through him, both innocent and not, and he pressed his face deep into the itchy fabric of his blazer, sighing contentedly.

“Thank you sir,” his voice came out muffled and sloppy, “thank you!”

“Shh.”

Hands encircled his waist and held him there. Blurr realized, as he drifted in the lovely comfort of Longarm’s scent and strength, that they had never actually had such a tender moment before. He had dreamed of it, certainly, but most of their past encounters had been straight to interface. Past encounters as they were. It was hard to believe it had been such a short amount of time since they first pressed into one another in the empty locker room. It made him dizzy to think about.

“You’re too sweet to me, I think, too good overall, I don’t know what I did to deserve this but I’m so happy.”

He wasn’t sure if Longarm had heard him, because there was no response. Reluctantly, he pulled back, only to catch Longarm’s concerned expression as it lingered on the computer screen.

“Sir? Did I say something wrong because I certainly didn’t meant to over st-step my bounds if that’s what’s happening and if it was something else I’m sorry I’m sure I can-”

“No, no, I’m sorry Blurr.”

His frown lessened.

“Things have just been… strained this week.”

Blurr followed his line of sight to the monitor.

“Is that Wasp’s?”

Longarm turned back to him suddenly and he realized he probably shouldn’t have been looking, even if it was right there. The name had been fairly clear on the top of the document; he hadn’t even thought before speaking.

“Oh, sla- I mean oh gosh I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to cut into that kind of thing I know teacher’s files are private and not to be viewed by students I just kind of turned and _saw_ it!”

“Blurr.”

Longarm pulled him close, very suddenly, and kissed him on the lips. It succeeded in stunning him silent long enough for Dr. Longarm to continue.

“Yes, it is Wasp. If I truly didn’t want you to see what I was doing, I should have shut down the files. Don’t worry.”

Relaxing again, Blurr tentatively gestured to the screen.

“What is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

With the mood somewhat drawn back to something more uncomfortable for them both, Blurr sat upright, though he remained comfortably perched on Longarm’s stocky thighs. His teacher looked a little humored, albeit darkly.

“It’s the grade for an essay his class did last week. I’m trying to decide whether I should upload it.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

Blurr fingered the lapels on Longarm’s jacket, trying to act casual but secretly fluttering with excitement at their easy closeness.

“Because,” Longarm sighed, “if he comes back soon, as it were, he would probably benefit from having this input now, but if he doesn’t I’m going to have to live with the title of the teacher who couldn’t resist uploading the fact that he got a low C on his last grading opportunity after disappearing.”

He chuckled at that, and Blurr laughed a little, but it was a hollow sound. Something about his use of the word ‘disappearing’ made him incredibly uncomfortable. He didn’t want to think about Wasp or what had happened, _may_ have happened, when he was with Longarm. It seemed almost odd remembering that, as a teacher, Longarm had connections with all these students around him, though not quite in the same way.

Despite himself he had to ask.

“Do you think he’s coming back? I mean, do you know anything about what happened?”

Longarm’s smile turned soft.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

He pet Blurr softly, pulling their chests together again. Blurr leaned into it wholeheartedly, letting his optics shutter. They sat together a klik still, silent but for the wind and the birds outside and the occasional bark of a car horn in the distance. Blurr let his spark beat try to seek out Longarm’s, hoping they could beat in synch, feeling selfishly hopeful that they could turn to something more pleasant. He still jumped in surprise when Longarm’s fingers, that had been so gently stroking up and down his spine, suddenly dipped lower to pick at his waistband.

The shift was dramatic, and Blurr loved it. Suddenly he was clinging to Longarm’s jacket, arching his back down so his hips could push into the contact. Longarm was in his underwear already, pressing hot circles over his interface cover. It was just like that night in the car, unexpected and unbelievably arousing. He didn’t want to run home in soggy underwear again, and, for once, had the peace of mind to reach down and pull at his shorts insistently until Longarm got the message, pulling back just enough to help him out of his pants. Then they were working on his hoodie and shirt, which got stuck against his antenna and made them both gasp husky laughs, and then he was sitting, fully nude but for the collar around his neck on his teacher’s lap in the literature classroom.

Curling a finger through the ring at his throat, Blurr parted his panels, feeling his valve plump in the open air.

“I didn’t tell you to do that.”

Blurr leaned back so far in the chair he almost feared he’d fall off, clenching his legs tight as he exposed himself.

“I’ve been _aching_ for you.”

The words sounded a bit too romantic and for a moment, as with every moment around the bot he was helm over stabilizing servos for, he doubted himself.

“Blurr, my dear,” Longarm too his finger from the loop and substituted it with his own, “you are so very good at turning me on.”

He swooned.

“Oh sir, oh Doctor Longarm sir, that is just – you are just too good to me, I, I, I l-like you so much, I really do, you’re so good and perfect and-!”

Pressing in tight, he canted his hips back and squealed into the thick fabric as Longarm once again prodded at his valve lips, pushing one finger in while two more held him spread. It was just one, but his servos were about as thick as two of Blurr’s own and he squirmed and wriggled it enough to make Blurr quake, desperate.

“Tell me how it feels,” Longarm whispered in his receptor, adding another finger.

“W-what?” Blurr could hardly think for a moment, trying to keep himself from drooling on his teacher’s lapel.

“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling. Right now.”

Blurr’s spark bloomed into another whirling storm of arousal and mortification.

“Well,” he swallowed thickly, then swallowed again to drown the last one, “I’m hot, really, really hot, I mean inside, and, uhm.”

He fidgeted, keeping his face hidden against Longarm’s chest as the fingers began to slowly swirl, almost but not quite thrusting.

“I-I’m happy.”

Longarm shifted his head to nuzzle at Blurr’s cheek, not stopping the work of his fingers. Blurr moaned a little, smiling into his shirt as he was kissed on the cheek and forehead.

“I’m happy that you are,” he said, a sultry murmur, “but I want more than just emotions, my dear. I want you to describe, in bold detail, every little filthy thing I do to you.”

Blurr’s breath hitched as each word was punctuated by a little jump inside him, and Longarm laughed a bit.

“I’ve read your essays. I know you’re no poet, but I think you have the smarts and creativity to work something out.”

Shivering, Blurr reassessed the moment. He knew exactly what was meant but it was hard to consider when all he really wanted to do was bury himself inside Longarm’s embrace and cum and cum again. At the same time he wanted to please Longarm more than anything, and he knew his need for speed was part of his glitch and his desire to interface so soon was his teenage mind on the fritz. He wondered if Longarm faulted him for that, for acting juvenile. Doing his best not to stutter, he began.

“I’m hot inside, like I said, but it’s very acutely focuses in-in my valve, and it feels tight and it’s getting tighter like I’m _squeezing_ down all through my stomach, and I can feel your fingers inside me and they’re so, so much bigger than mine are and they feel really, _really_ good, and I’m getting _so wet_ , and open, because I really want you, I’m so happy to be like this with you, and my spark is so _big_ and moving so fast right now it’s making me light headed, but I don’t want it to stop, I want you to keep touching me like this and _ooh_ , that way you twist your fingers sometimes is just the best, a-and, _oh!_ ”

Longarm, apparently appreciating his poorly performed tirade, pulled him in for a kiss while finally giving in to temptation and beginning to really push his hand hard. Blurr clutched at him for dear life and he used this stability to his advantage, releasing Blurr’s back and moving down between them to massage his exterior node. Blurr keened into his mouth, rolling his hips back shyly, then, seeing his approval, with vigor. At this point he was really lubricating, little drips and hot drops skating down his inner thighs and splashing out every time Longarm’s fingers dove back in. had he been in a clearer mindset he might have been concerned for Longarm’s nice pants, or the way they were making the chair squeak against the linoleum in a very clearly erotic manner, but he was barely able to process the words to speak much less be upset and Longarm was already taking care of that issue by shoving his tongue down his throat.

He was hyper aware of how naked he was against his teacher’s full suit. His plating felt smooth and cold as the fabric tickled his chest and stomach. He pushed his nose against Longarm’s cheek and kissed along his mouthpiece, reveling in how exposed he was, alone. The collar around his neck held its weight like a constant kiss.

“ _Longarm,”_ he breathed, “ _oh, sir…”_

Bucking back, he bit into Longarm’s collar without thinking, muffling his own cry as he came. It was a rough overload, coming on and off as he squeezed his legs tight to keep from rocking to hard and falling, but Longarm pulled him through it. Clutching them chest to chest, Blurr strained every joint in his body to lock, rippling his calipers a few times, hard, and then collapsed. Fuzzy and warm inside, he let Longarm cradle him for a few kliks, content to just be naked and limp in his hold.

“Blurr,” he heard, just above his helm, “look at me, Blurr.”

Droopy eyed and adoring, Blurr gazed up his chest.

“You did well today,” said Longarm, cupping his cheek.

“You deserve this.”

He flicked the tag on the collar, making Blurr shiver with delight.

“I-I’m just so glad, sir,” he said, touching his palm to Longarm’s wrist, “it’s all been happening so fast but it’s so amazing, like some kind of romantic movie, and I just am so happy that I can,” he struggled for words, “please you.”

That changed something in his teacher. It was only for a moment but Blurr, used to watching things around him flood by, caught it, the urn of his smile darkening, almost sadly.

“I’m glad to have you too, Blurr.”

He seemed to want to leave it at that. Slipping out of his lap at a small nudge, Blurr stood. He felt weird for a moment, still trying to discern the meaning of Longarm’s strange look, but forgot it again as he remembered he was completely nude, panels still open. His first reaction was the juvenile, comic response of trying to cover himself, but Longarm caught his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly through his joints.

“I mean that, you know. That you are beautiful, and wanted.”

He urged Blurr to turn this way and that, tugging gently on his hands until Blurr smiled and laughed again, playfully shifting his hips. He knew his movements were stiff and imprecise, but Longarm was giving his eyes again and he could see that deep inside them he really was watching, admiring Blurr in a way no one ever had. That level of maturity and recognition. He had other bodies and other lovers to compare Blurr too. Override had been wonderful, in her time, but they were just kids in the woods having quick ruts in the bushes when nobody was around. Longarm had prestige, in Blurr’s optics. He had real world knowledge. He wanted Blurr for reasons other than adolescent lust and emotional instability.

“I really, really like you sir,” he said, meeting Longarm’s gaze, “I mean that. I think you are the best thing to ever happen to me, and I know I haven’t had much time to have things happen but I mean that.”

“I know you do.”

Longarm kissed the back of his hand, and the corners of his chest, and his striped stomach.

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

He had gotten Longarm’s pants messy, but luckily he had another pair. Blurr was surprised; Longarm apparently kept a lot of extra clothing on hand ‘just in case’ in his supply closet, including what looked like several black suits that were nothing like his everyday wear. Longarm seemed a bit sheepish about it when asked, and Blurr backed down, not wanting to go into matters that didn’t yet concern him. The sun was setting when they went into the parking lot, but all the sports teams had finished up when track had so there was little worry of being seen. Thankful Blurr himself had remained dry, clothing-wise at least, so he looked fairly normal, if a little more flustered than usual.

Blurr remembered the inside of the car well. It’s smell seemed to familiar, so comforting even though it was only a pale reflection of Longarm himself. Still clean, still comfortable, still just dusty enough to give off the same poised but down to Cybertron look that its owner had. Slipping into the passenger seat, Blurr almost hissed at himself in admonishment as his valve lit up again in excitement. Surely Longarm wouldn’t notice, but it was stupid how easily his interface protocols activated. He shouldn’t be such a mess with it, but it was hard not to when his glitch made every overload bounce back at him five times over at the very least. He would probably be spending all night on the floor with his collar on now, thinking about the way Longarm was smiling at him across the dashboard-

“y-you remember where I live, right?”

He crossed his legs in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner. Longarm nodded, turning the radio station to something old and tranquil. Blurr tried to keep from watching his fingers handle the wheel, instead turning to blindly admire the sunset. It became harder still when Longarm began to softly sing long to one of the songs.

“Your voice is lovely,” he said, partially to ease the tension between his legs. Longarm didn’t fully respond, giving him a cheerful look as he continued to rumble away. Something deep came out in his voice when he sang, though it was quiet, as though a second voice were joining his normal one. It was mesmerizing. Blurr could not turn away this time, watching the way his lips formed words and the glow of his forehead’s glass in the low light.

It was lucky he didn’t turn back, though, because it was beyond the rise of his teacher’s helm that he saw the cherry paint of Rodimus’s car wink in the dying sun.

“Oh slag!”

He ducked down too fast and the seat belt rode up into his throat, making him gag. Longarm was just as startled, swerving the car a bit before slowing to a halt.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned down to try and tug at Blurr’s shoulder as he rearranged himself, huddling as low under the dash as he could without undoing the safety belt.

“It-it’s Rodimus, sir! From school! He’ll recognize me!”

“I see.”

Longarm was very good at acting natural, suddenly, pulling back up and taking the wheel again. Still, they weren’t moving, and Blurr could hear the squeal of what he knew much be Rodimus’s brakes.

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“I’m at a red light,” Longarm said, very calmly. Blurr couldn’t even see his lips twitch.

“Is he beside us?”

“Yes.”

“Frag,” said Blurr again, then covered his mouth with both hands as he remembered who he was with.

“Sorry sir, it’s just, d-dang it, he’d recognize me for sure. I should have remembered he has late archery today, Primus damn this stupid hard drive!”

As he was speaking Longarm turned and smiled out the window, waving a bit. Blurr was aghast.

“What are you doing!”

“He saw me,” Longarm said, again hardly moving his face, “I think it would be worse for my image were I to avoid him.”

“Can he see me?”

“I doubt it, but he might hear you if you keep carrying on like that.”

Blurr’s hands squeezed on his face tighter, as of trying to trap the budding words behind the damn of his fingers. Longarm held the wheel casually, but his optics were steadfast on the road in front of him. Through the windows, Blurr could just barely hear the hum of Rodimus’s hot rod’s engine over the crooning radio.

Then the car slowly pulled forward and Longarm turned, the shadow of a building falling over Blurr’s hiding place.

“He’s past us.”

Longarm had a chuckle in his voice, and Blurr’s relieved sigh held a hint of contentedness as he straightened his back, checking around them to be certain.

“That was close, I mean not to overstate the moment but that was really close!”

It was getting dark now, the sun fully behind the horizon and only leaving the last echoes of its light behind. Longarm switched on the turn signal, checking his sides at a stop sign.

“You and Rodimus are close?”

“yes,” said Blurr, then backtracked, “well, kind of, I mean we are friends, I would certainly say yes to that, but we’ve only really _been_ friends since last week even though we’ve know each other since freshman year and known _of_ each other since a little before then.”

 “So, not close yet?”

“A little. I’d like to be. I don’t have a lot of friends here, not to complain, but it is nice to have someone around you can trust.”

“You don’t trust him… _too_ deeply, I hope.”

Longarm had his optics on the road, but Blurr could see the grimness in them.

"Oh, no, sir, no!”

He leaned across the console, putting a hand bravely on Longarm’s leg as he spoke.

“I would never tell him something so private and personal and dangerous! You could lose your job! I would- I would never do that to you! This is between us, I know that, sir, not between myself and whomever else I might like spending time with.”

They pulled up at another stop sign, some deserted intersection. Longarm turned to him.

“Good.”

His hand was behind Blurr’s helm and pulling him into a kiss so quickly he was almost unprepared for it. His lips parted and met Longarm’s with warm welcome, a moan bubbling from his vocalizer before he was even touched. It was only a dash of tongue, almost chaste, but when they parted Blurr found himself fluttering and dizzy again. Remembering Longarm’s request to him earlier, when they were interfacing behind his desk, Blurr squeezed his thigh and said, “You make me feel like my guts are going molten and my spark is going to fly right out of my chest.”

“That’s rather morbid.”

Longarm accelerated. They were almost there.

“I meant it in a good way, the best possible way,” Blurr pulled back into his own seat, “but like you said earlier, I’m not exactly a poet.”

“Oh, Blurr, I knew what you meant, and I feel a strong affection for you too.”

They pulled over at the side of the road, where there were still fields before the gated communities began, and shut off the headlights. A little over two miles up towered the taller apartments they had parked between that first night. Blurr could see the lights of the gatehouse in front of his block, but where they were was in complete shadow.

“I hope you don’t mind walking, but I feel it would be safer for us both if you were not seen in my car for a second time.”

“I under- yeah, I mean, I don’t mind walking, I understand.”

He hesitated.

“Is there some other way we can communicate? Maybe somewhere else we can meet? I mean, I know that’s dangerous and all but I really want to talk to you sometimes when I can’t go back to school or you aren’t at school. I understand if this sounds presumptuous and you can say no I don’t mind or anything I just, um, I’d like it.”

Longarm seemed to consider.

“It would be very dangerous for me to share computer information with you, Blurr. The school keeps a good track of that.”

“I know. That’s alright; it was stupid of me to ask.”

He toed at his backpack a bit, trying to tell himself he wasn’t too put out.

“I do have a private cell, however. Not linked to my private communication lines or my house phone. The school has no control over that.”

Blurr’s head snapped up so quickly the servos in his neck screeched.

“Do you mean I can use that number to contact you?”

“Indeed.”

Blurr threw off his seat belt and leapt across the gear shaft to hug Longarm.

“Oh thank you sir thank you sirthankyouthankyou I’m really excited about this I mean I won’t be texting or calling you all the time - do you even have a texting package? – but I’m just so happy you trusted me with this I promise I’ll-!”

“Blurr, please!” said Longarm, “Allow me to at least give you the number first.”

Reaching into an inside pocket of his blazer, Longarm recovered a small handheld device of unknown make. Blurr could not tell if the phone was very old or very new.

“Give me your number. That way I can begin our contact at a time that is good for me.”

“O-of course.”

Blurr stumbled over the digits of his own number, a little too giddy to think straight, and then Longarm kissed him again before sending him off into the night.


	8. Short On Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr realizes he's way too obvious about this crush thing and Rodimus has a hard time with everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“I fragging hate midterms.”

Rodimus sprawled across Blurr’s comforter, pouting at the wall. On the floor at the foot, Blurr hummed noncommittally, focusing more on finishing the math busywork they’d been given for ‘test prep’, though even the teacher knew it was a lie. Thankfully math was not a subject Blurr was either here nor there on and he was finishing the worksheet with relative ease.

“Seriously? Agree with me, dammit, I’m trying to complain here.”

“I agree,” said Blurr, laughing and darting away when Rodimus swatted at him.

“No, but seriously, I do agree, kind of, I just don’t think they’re such a big deal. I’ve always liked test weeks, to be honest, they give you snacks and there’s no homework and if you finish early you can just sit around.”

“Well not everyone over here is mister speed-out-my-aft.”

Blurr snorted, putting down the worksheet and crawling up to lay beside his friend.

“Doing things fast doesn’t mean they’re done well. I mean I think about them and all that, I do my best, but it’s not like I’m a genius.”

Puffing air between his lips as though he were smoking a great pipe, Rodimus dropped his own pencil to the floor, watching it roll lamely.

“You get straight A’s.”

“So do you.”

Without the scratch of pencils, the silence between words sounded indefinitely loud. At the same time it was a comfortable silence, even if the tone of Rodimus’s voice was starting to deepen. Blurr picked at his comforter.

“You know,” said Rodimus, lying on his shoulder to look at Blurr squarely, “I used to like school. Like, learning and stuff is always cool, but I really used to like school itself.”

“There’s growing up for you.”

Rodimus rolled again and ended up half on top of Blurr, slinging his arms around his neck in a gentle choke hold.

“Don’t give me that wise scrap.”

“I’m serious!”

Blurr only wriggled a little to get more comfortable, enjoying the weight against his back. He wasn’t one to initiate touch but the casual contact Rodimus seemed to engage in without thinking was warm and sweet, in a weird way. He liked knowing he was privy to it.

“You get older and everything becomes a pressure for college and jobs and grades start to mean something and it all starts feeling like a slog instead of a jog. I’m not just using my ‘quick intellect’ to _harsh your mellow_ , idiot.”

He meant it with the most tender of affections. Rodimus tried to noogie him and he head-butted back into his shoulder, hurting them both. He tried to get out from underneath but Rodimus bit him, right on the crest. It was a surprisingly dirty move and Blurr made a loud sound, both injured and appalled.

“Get off!”

“Mnng.”

The new angle did force his opponent up slightly, and Blurr elbowed him in the gut. Rodimus spluttered, spitting out his mouthful, and slid away, clutching his winded stomach.

“Y-you bastard!”

Rubbing his helm, Blurr smiled smugly.

_“Please.”_

“Please yourself.”

He pushed off, returning to where his homework was weighing heavily on his peripheral vision. There were three problems he hadn’t been able to do his first pass around that he would like to at least try and finish. Rodimus calmed, but two solutions later Blurr did not hear the sound of him following suit. He stayed diplomatically focused on his paper, but things were never passed off easily by Rod.

“I guess it is just stress, growing up and scrap, but it feels pretty stupid to learn to hate something you used to enjoy.”

He had his arms crossed under his chin, and his sleeve muffled his voice slightly, but Blurr heard every word of it.

“I just wish Mags wasn’t such a hard aft.”

Blurr watched his optics fixate on the carpet. Setting down his homework one problem away from completion, he turned back to the bed.

“What do you mean? That sounds like something.”

He wasn’t sure if he was allowed by friend law to pry that far, but Rodimus seemed unfazed, shrugging.

“I dunno, he just makes it seem like what I do now is going to be relevant for the rest of my life and that if I don’t give every single klik my all I’m going to fail at saving the universe or whatever.”

Not having any frame of personal reference for this, Blurr found himself struggling to form a coherently sympathetic response.

“If he has expectations beyond what you can do, that’s his problem, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not the one being let down or something if you don’t put one hundred percent into everything.”

“Yeah, but,” he rolled on his back and waved his hands around, “I don’t like disappointing him! He pisses me off so much but I still get all stupid and sad when he doesn’t get perfect wonder child Rodimus!”

It was hard not to laugh at that, and after a moment even Rodimus cracked open a clean smile.

“Well,” said Blurr, “maybe he doesn’t always deserve perfect wonder child Rodimus.”

“Mm.”

The sat in silence a while more, Rodimus staring at the ceiling and Blurr quietly eyeing his unfinished problem and hoping it didn’t make him rude to be thinking about it.

“Sentinel used to understand. I know Elita did too before she went all goth. Optimus did, and Jazz, you know that kid with the headphones?” he gestured, “Yeah, him. He’s also been in those weird honor roll meetings this year. He’s not even a senior.”

“Honor roll meetings?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus rolled over again, smiling stupidly at him in a way that reassured Blurr better than words could have, “stuff about career path choices and all that rust. We have them every few months. I guess they bring in younger students who are doing well to try and, like, _invigorate them for learning_ or something. They even have freshmen sometimes, like they brought in that Hot Shot kid for some reason (I hate that guy) and Wasp was there once.”

The room seemed to darken as soon as he mentioned the last name, although Blurr felt it was out of courtesy more than anything. They already established that neither of them had really known or liked the kid.

“I didn’t think Wasp was actually a good student. I thought he was just one of those elitist douches.”

“Well, he was, but he was also in for straight A’s.”

“The worst.”

“Yeah.”

Rodimus kicked his legs up as ballast and flipped into an upright position.

“Well enough of that depressing slag; take me home.”

Magnus wanted to see him today for some kind of dinner, or ‘supper’ as Rodimus had called it, making a face that showed he knew exactly how prissy it sounded. Apparently this was normal behavior between them but Blurr still found it strange. Stranger still was that Rodimus had forgone his car to walk over, explaining rather lamely that Magnus found driving everywhere ‘just for fun’ a waste of money and time. Blur found he could hardly wrap his head around the concept. Driving was a faster way to get from point A to point B; while speed was indeed fun, wouldn’t everyone want to be going faster, given the chance? It seemed like a commodity rather than a pointless expenditure.

“I’ll walk you half way.”

“You’d better.”

It was intended to be a joke but Blurr nearly winced as he remembered the exact scenario in which Wasp had been supposedly taken. Whatever embarrassment he may have harbored was quickly washed away when they went out into the high sunlight. As per usual, the concept of moving about in the open air was far more enticing than bad thoughts were. He started jogging a bit, the sloppy hang of his weekend basketball shorts making Rodimus laugh and try to pants him, but he ran circles around grabbing hands.

“Hey, I’m just trying to save you from a fashion fail. Sky blue on sky blue? Really?”

“First of all I don’t even think these match my plating second of all my legs are black anyways and thirdly you are a lazy aft who won’t even try running after me to really deal with this supposed fashion failure so I conclude that you aren’t really trying to save me at all. Aft.”

Shrugging, Rodimus raised his hands in defeat.

“I suppose my wicked motives are made clear by my actions!”

“You should have been a theater kid.”

The halfway point was an uninteresting intersection at the base of a small, slow sloping hill atop which was the complex Rodimus lived in. cars hummed past on their way to whatever weekend activity awaited them, loudly minding their own business. Blurr finally slowed down, ceasing his circling of the sidewalk, and Rodimus tried one last fruitless grab at him.

“Whoever let you join the track team was just looking for disaster.”

“I like to think so myself, if you don’t mind my saying so,” said Blurr with a look that just challenged anyone to mind.

Rodimus used the distraction to tug on his pants. Blurr screamed.

Going home alone probably should have been boring, but Blurr had the wind on his heels and a dream in his mind. Not to say he’d been champing at the bit for Rodimus to leave, but there was a very special phone call he was hoping to receive.

Dashing through the front door as with speed enough to trick an onlooker into thinking he’d fazed through it, Blurr was on his bed digging around in his side table for his collar in under three kliks. He normally kept the thing in plain sight but with Rodimus over he obviously had to change plans. Now he felt like a mess inside, internal workings in a knot of excitement and worry. It shouldn’t be worried, he tried to reason, because he and Doctor Longarm had had multiple personal connections before and he already knew their situation was a good one, but somehow the nerves still came. He just wanted to please so badly.

He often wondered how Longarm would prefer to find him. He had waited, the night before, completely nude for all of ten kliks before panicking and putting on his pajamas. Then he had switched to nicer clothes, to casual, and eventually gave up at one am and took a shower. He wasn’t exactly disappointed, because there had been no promise he was being let down on, but a part of his felt like every night Longarm didn’t call was another night he could be reconsidering their whole relationship. He told himself he was being paranoid, but he also was smart enough to know the difference between paranoia and real fear; the difference between rational thoughts and the irrational.

Unfortunately it was all too rational to question what they had begun. Even Blurr, as young and passionate as he was, knew that. At the same time he tried his best not to think about it, to allow himself to be caught up in the hybrid fairytale slash porno atmosphere he built in his fantasies.

He perched on his comforter, deciding to settle in what he hoped was an attractive blend of his day clothes and his sleepwear, fingering the D ring of his collar nervously. When just staring at his cell phone brought about no results, he realized he’d need to fall back on different time killing methods. Unfortunately it was hard to concentrate on reading or watching TV when he was so amped up about something, even harder than usual. The clock ticked by so sluggishly he had to keep checking his own chronometer to ensure it was in fact correct. He made a light dinner and then took an hour to eat it, standing to pace between mouthfuls.

Even a reciprocated crush, it seemed, was hard to deal with. Thinking about Longarm filled him with such a deep sense of confusion and pleasure and need that he felt he would burst, but there didn’t seem to be any real way to _not_ think about him. Every thought and action cyclically drove back to a single point, making him feel mad with anxiety.

He ended up falling asleep on the floor beside his bed. At some point he awoke in the night, an odd feeling on the back of his neck, but too tired to be assed he crawled up onto the mattress and rolled over on his side, away from the annoyingly bright window, and went back into recharge. Waking up and falling back down was always an issue, because secondary recharge cycles brought out the stranger, messier defragmentation cycles and with them the nasty dreams. He often dreamed of Longarm, as he did on this night, but it was a muddled and strange vison where his teacher continually fell in and out of focus, colors blurring together in a muddy purple crawl through his circuitry. When they intertwined it was literal, Blurr finding himself wrapped inside the seemingly endless cocoon of Longarm’s frame, and it was warm and smothering in a way that was both exciting and terrifying.

Blurr jerked upright, fans blasting out steam. The sun ate trails in the carpet and illuminated the peaks of his feet beneath the sheets like sister mountains amidst snow. It was fitting because, despite the heat between his legs, he was freezing.

A disappointing as it was to have been figuratively stood up again, Blurr wasn’t able to be too upset by it. They were busy enough as it was with the self-same midterms Rodimus had been complaining about coming up. He supposed, as he crawled into the warm stream of the shower, that it was probably a lot of work for the teachers themselves. He was being selfish by expecting Longarm to devote all his time to Blurr as Blurr devoted every thought to him.

The unfair part of it all was that he, being who he was, was about as done with whatever he had to do for the weekend as done could get. Rodimus wasn’t responding to his tentative texts and there was really nothing left to work on, so he studied as best he could before his patience snapped. It was a rough contrast to the wildly exciting week before and he slid through it in a kind of bored daze, more annoyed than anything. He masturbated more times in one day than he had in months.

The good thing was that Monday was schedule A, which meant Longarm’s class. Even if he wasn’t able to be satisfied during the off days he could at least see his teacher. Maybe receive those secretive looks that made him nearly wet his seat. That and Rodimus was in his first period.

“Man, Strika is gonna crush us. She’s gonna crush us into dust.”

“Shh,” Blurr dodged another shot at his ankle.

“You take this too seriously. You’ll do fine. You always do!”

“Hey, just because I can withstand being crushed doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Given the schedule of the week, their midterm would be on Friday. Strika had seen her opportunity and taken it, spending Monday and, assumedly, Wednesday to drive the idea of never-ending failure into their sparks. Rodimus was not doing well under the pressure.

“Just don’t worry about it, do what you always do, study like you always study and everything will just fall into place. It’s midterms in the fall. This hardly even affects your overall GPA.”

“Ugh. Ergh.” Rodimus shoved away his lunch as if he were sick.

“Don’t even talk about it anymore. You sound like the councilor in my elementary school.”

“Yeesh.”

He wanted to say more but was still in the process of formulating his response when Bumblebee slid into the seat across from him like he belonged there. Slotting his fingers together, he set his mouth in a comically grim line and leaned across the table. Blurr stared at him. Rodimus lifted his face out of the fabric of his lunch bag. Nobody moved or spoke for a good klik.

“Hello there.”

Blurr reset his vocalizer, raising his brow meaningfully. Bumblebee sat back a bit, still staring.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, do we?”

It would have been hard not to laugh, but Blurr didn’t exactly try and stop himself. Shaking himself a bit, Bumblebee tried to hide his budding embarrassment. Blurr noticed Bulkhead sitting across the room trying to pretend he wasn’t watching from behind an upside down textbook.

“No, not you, zippy, him.”

Rodimus perked.

“What can I do you for? If it’s test answers then don’t bother unless you have, like, twenty bucks and a Kit Kat.”

“It’s not, I don’t, shut up. It’s about Principal Mags.”

Frowning, Rodimus leaned in, as if someone could hear them. Blurr rested his chin on his elbows and watched.

“What about him?”

“You guys are like, close, right? Like he’s your sponsor or whatever?”

“Uh, ‘whatever’ is correct. Why?”

“Do they know anything more about, you know, Wasp?”

Rodimus sat up straight again, clearly disappointed.

“Look, if they knew anything more than what we’ve all been told, I have no idea. I’m not exactly in the circle of ‘responsible adults’ around here.”

That wasn’t true and Blurr knew it, but he also knew that he wasn’t supposed to know it, so he remained silent, watching as Bumblebee’s face went through a strange series of emotions.

“Really? Dammit.”

“Sorry dude.”

They were both clearly uncomfortable with the direction the talk had taken. Bumblebee was still wearing his serious mask, for what it was worth, but his optics were straying. Bulkhead’s book was slowly lowering into his lap as he focused so intensely he forgot he was holding it. Blurr shifted noisily.

“Well, uhm, if you hear anything, let me know?”

It shouldn’t have come out as a question but it did. Bumblebee started to get up and froze halfway hunched between standing and sitting.

“Yeah, sure.” Rodimus smiled weakly. “Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Bumblebee shuffled away and Rodimus blew out a gust of air from his vents.

“Primus on a platter.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, you did the right thing.”

Blurr patted his back awkwardly, hoping that anything he was saying held some comfort. Bulkhead was ushering his little friend away, seeming to be laying on more comfort than was necessary as Bumblebee kept pushing on his hands. His high voice carried only enough for its ghost to be heard across the road of teenage conversation, but he didn’t sound too upset. Rodimus shook his head, snorting.

“It’s cool, I know.”

He pulled his food back with a vigor just as the bell rang.

“Are you kidding me right now- slag it.”

He shoved the open bag back into his backpack and started pulling carrots out and eating them violently as he started walking. Blurr, who had hoovered his food within the first three kliks of lunch as always, laughed.

“Don’t hurt yourself there.”

“Har har.”

Blurr wasn’t sure how far he should push it, so he left off, following Rodimus even though their classes weren’t exactly in the same direction. For whatever reason, though, they ended up moving towards the AP wing without his guidance.

“Don’t you have gym?”

“What, you were gonna follow me all the way to gym class?”

Rodimus pushed his shoulder a little too hard, snickering when he stumbled.

“I wouldn’t tear you away from your precious Lit, don’t worry.”

“ _Precious_? That’s one way to put it I suppose.”

Brushing himself off, Blurr shot a nervous glance towards the door. Longarm was not within sight and as such probably hadn’t seen him looking like an idiot. Probably.

“Shut up, you totally love this class. I see the way your little optics light up every time we head to class on A schedule. I can’t imagine _why_ , but don’t even bother denying it.”

Blurr stammered. Rodimus didn’t look suspicious, just playful, but he was sure he looked guilty as all hell so instead of speaking he shoved his friend and laughed loudly. His real laugh, the obnoxious, high hyperventilation sound that always made people stare. Rodimus seemed humored by it but Blurr took the opportunity to duck into the classroom, waving uselessly behind him in hopes it was an acceptably ‘goodbye’.

Dr. Longarm was not actually in the room at all. Taking his seat nervously, Blurr shrugged off the stares of the kids who had heard him shrieking in the hallway. It was his own doing after all. He felt overshadowed by an odd amount of guilt, both about ditching Rodimus after he walked him to class and about the weakly formed lie. The weight of the entire secret was suddenly very apparent and he curled down over his desk in embarrassment, as if the other students could tell.

It was nearly five kliks after the second bell that Longarm rushed into the classroom, somehow as professional and calm as ever as he hurried to catch up with the lost time. It was unusual for him to be late, but Blurr was so distracted in his own wallowing that he was happier for the distraction of his teacher’s arrival than anything else. He didn’t care to think too deeply right now.

“I apologize for being late.”

A few people laughed. Blurr bit his lip.

“Alright, then we’ll begin.”

He wanted to see Longarm, in private. He suddenly wanted it more than he had wanted the phone call or the spanking or to see Longarm’s spike; he wanted a moment of pure intimate reassurance. He tried to focus on the lecture, but it was hard. In fact, it wasn’t until the end of the day that he was really able to find focus. Rodimus had given him a cursory goodbye and popped off already, looking for all the world like he’d never been harried by Bumblebee during lunch. Blurr knew that wasn’t true of course but he also knew Rodimus’s face and if he looked fine he probably was fine. They made a quick agreement to meet in the parking lot after their various activities and split. He was out the door and headed towards the back of the school for track when a hand on his arm stalled him.

“Blurr.”

“Sir!”

They swirled sideway into his classroom and shut the door in one fluid movement, like a dance of excitement. Longarm’s chest pushed against his own, arms framing Blurr’s shoulders and keeping him pinned. He felt light headed, spark pushing against the curves of its chamber as the barest flicker of Longarm’s own could be felt in his EM field.

“I know you don’t have much time, but I wanted to see you.”

Longarm moved in as he spoke, turning his helm until he was kissing Blurr’s audio receptor with every word.

“I-I wanted to see you too, sir, I’ve really been missing you, you know.”

“I do.”

Turning Blurr’s chin with a single finger, Longarm kissed him slow and sweet on the lips. Blurr melted into it, as he always would, wringing his hands in the hem of his own shirt.  It was short but felt like eons, and when they parted Blurr somehow found himself gasping for air as if he was overheating.  Looking out from under the cusp of his helm, Blurr smiled toothily.

“Uhm.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call you yet. I don’t mean to string you along.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be busy again tonight, but I will get to you by the end of the week.”

Be brushed his hand along Blurr’s cheek.

“I promise.”

“Okay.”

It took so little to completely dissolve Blurr’s vocabulary with him. They kissed again, a small peck really, and Longarm pulled away completely, straightening his tie.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear.”

Was there a normalcy to be found in this kind of relationship? Blurr had never had this kind of love before, with anyone. A fall storm was clouding the sky and everyone on the field gleefully raised their heads and hands, trying to catch the first drops of winter water in the air. Somehow he was set on ease by it. By the time Rodimus came back to the school to pick him up, it was flat out raining. Blurr had to run around the side of the building to stay under the eaves until he had the car unlocked, trying to stay as dry as possibly for both his and the upholstery’s sake.

“Just throw that scrap in the back. Careful though.”

Shuffling to remove his backpack while inside the car, Blurr looked back and perked.

“Is that your bow?”

“Yup.”

He then launched into a flurry of technical speak about what it was called and how it was used, all of which Blurr listened to but, without reference to understand it, somewhat glossed over. It was enough to hear his friend’s enthusiasm. Taking his time for once, Rodimus allowed Blurr the opportunity to put both his backpack and the duffle bag that had been occupying the passenger seat into the back around the bow before driving.

“Sounds like you had a good day. The rain wasn’t a problem for you guys? I’d imagine there would be some sort of protocol or rule or like adjustment you’d have to make for shooting in the rain although honestly I guess I have no idea but you’d think the physics wouldn’t add up.”

“Eh,” Rodimus shrugged, “we have an indoor range too so it wasn’t a big deal. I’m surprised you guys kept going on our shitty field though.”

Blurr smiled quietly.

“Hot Shot fell on his aft like five times but I have pretty good balance myself, probably for the same reasons I have good posture, whatever they may be.”

They were silent a while, the radio crooning some pop song through wind induced static. The soft plod of the windshield wipers and the scent of creosote through the vents was almost soothing enough to lull Blurr into recharge after a while, the energy pump from his run settling down to the post-high drowsiness.

“I’m sorry.”

Blurr almost thought it was the radio for a moment, not unsheilding his optics.

“What?”

“For making fun of your, uh, your English class there. I know you like it. I didn’t mean to make you sound like a nerd.”

Blurr almost laughed but when he looked up Rodimus was intent on the road, solemn. His optics had the same dull quality as when he was lying to Bumblebee.

“I wasn’t upset by that, I do like that class. You don’t have to be sorry about it.”

Something about the serious mood disturbed him. Rodimus sighed, shifting his grip on the wheel. The red of an approaching stoplight glittered off a hundred raindrops on the windshield, illuminating the interior of the car in the dull evening glow like a disco ball.

“I dunno, you just get kinda edgy whenever I bring it up. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of brick headed jock douchebag.”

“Wha- no! I don’t think that at all! Why would I even be hanging out with you if I thought that, I’m not one to sacrifice my dignity for a relationship especially since getting to know Sentinel and his crew I mean obviously I know you’re a good guy or else I wouldn’t be here!”

He studied Rodimus’s face closely.

“I mean that. You’re my friend.”

Rodimus sighed, breaking into a small smile as the light changed.

“That’s true. You’re not _that_ pathetic.”

Blurr punched his arm weakly.

“Told you.”

They pulled into the round where Blurr’s house was. Shielding his bag with his body, Blurr barreled across the gravel into his porch, nearly slipping twice. He turned and bowed to a laughing Rodimus, waving before he disappeared into the house. He hadn’t gotten too wet, but he dumped his backpack and immediately began stripping off his clothes anyways, listening to the receding splash of Rodimus’s tires as he peeled out of the lot. Was he really that obvious about Longarm or was Rodimus just sensitive? He still hadn’t seen him rejoin his old friends since they had started hanging out, although Mentions of Sentinel never seemed to bother him. Rodimus seemed to be as much an enigma as he was straightforward. Blurr supposed he could trust him to reveal his secrets in time, but there were some things he was forced by his inquisitive mind to ponder anyways.

OR he could ponder that kiss in the classroom earlier. Half nude in the kitchen, Blurr leaned against the counter and blew out steam.

Oh, that kiss. Longarm was too sweet with him sometimes. Somehow it just made him want roughness. Maybe that was the point though, to leave him craving. Knowing he wasn’t going to receive the phone call tonight was both an annoyance and a relief. At least he didn’t have to worry about being in his right mind when the number came in.

The shutters to the kitchen window were down so Blurr wasted no time in pulling his underpants own his thighs and wrapping his hand around his spike, the other one slipping behind to tease at his valve rim, already dripping within nano-kliks. Maybe he wouldn’t get time with his teacher today, but he was sure as the pit going to get off. Holding off for the right moment was for romantics and chumps, and while he couldn’t deny falling into both categories a little he could deny those sensibilities enough to lean into the linoleum pattern by the sink and moan as loudly as he wanted as two fingers sunk inside himself, his thumb swiping a small swirl in the bead of transfluid growing on the head of his spike.

It had been a long weekend of fingering himself but he still was insatiable. Even if he’d burnt off the high running gave him in Rodimus’s car the memory of track class, of that night a few weeks back in the locker room, made him vibrate all over. He wanted to earn that spike, wanted to taste it, feel its thickness between his palms. He tugged his own faster, remembering the deep tug of Longarm’s tone when he told Blurr he didn’t deserve it yet and how it made his insides quiver. They did now too, noticeably around his fingers, and he bit his lip and buried his face in the counter as he jumped up on his tippy toes a few times, trying to reach that angle that made him sing. Longarm seemed to know it instinctively, like he knew everything else about Blurr.

Dragging his hand down to roughly palm the base of his spike, Blurr rubbed warm circles around the housing, just barely catching the nerve clusters hidden inside the strip between his equipment. He stuck a third finger inside himself and gasped loudly, a bit of spittle drooling down his chin. There was no shame when he was alone though and he ignored it completely, digging in deep and curling against the bulging nodes along his own lining, trying to get his thumb around in a good position to rub at his nub but having a difficult time with it. His calipers flexed hard and he moaned like a whore.

He could earn the right to have Longarm’s spike. He could be a good boy. He could be so good. He wanted to bring pleasure back, for all he had gotten. He wanted to, and maybe that was why it was being withheld in the first place, to exploit the unfairness of it all. Longarm was older; he knew how to deal with these things. He probably didn’t go home and pant over himself like Blurr did every day, begging his fantasies like a slut. He was an adult, and a poised on at that. If only he could see Blurr now.

Overload sunk deep and hot in his belly, not an explosion or a surge but a warm bath of sensation that made him stop pumping and merely hump against the counter as his valve pulsed, spike discharging all over the wood siding. It wasn’t until his receptors stopped ringing that he realized he was biting the counter, little tooth shaped rings left along the linoleum.

“Oops?”

He pushed back, pins and needles shocking his legs as his systems tried to recalibrate for the motion patterns of walking long enough for him to get to his bedroom and face plant on the sheets.

Everything was so confusing and arousing. Primus being a teenager was hard.


	9. Four Seasons In Two Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mega Update! Blurr spends one long weekend figuring his life out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for the LONG wait: this chapter is double the usual size! Enjoy!

Blurr raised his hands high above his head and arched his back, stretching every wire in his frame, pulling the warm noonday air into his ventilation system. Then, as slowly as he had breathed it in, he wilted, breathing out, back bending forward until the tips of his fingers lay in the snouts of his running sneakers, knees locked straight. His optics opened.

Rodimus slapped his aft.

_“Go!”_

He shot off down the track, too focused to even care for the teasing. By the time he had reached the first corner Rodimus was still coughing his dust at the starting line. Skidding in the loose turf, he rounded himself perfectly and shot down the other side of the straight. Grass kicked up at his heels and he flew forward, ripping past Rodimus again in a matter of seconds. There was no wind that day but the air whistling in his ears was just enough that he was deaf to Rodimus’s loud exclamation of _hot slag!_ As he raced past.

Three laps; that was what they had agreed on. Holding his phone over his eyes to keep the sun out, Rodimus whooped as Blurr made his second hairpin turn, just barely keeping within the lines of his track as he drifted on dust again, calculated and practiced. Blurr rounded the course a third time, sweeping in close, and stopped with a few errant steps right next to Rodimus.

“Time?”

“Uh,” and then the cloud of dust that had been following Blurr caught up in the low breeze sending them both into a coughing fit.

“Primus!”

Blurr snickered through his teary optics, raising a hand as if to slap Rodimus on the shoulder before hesitating and letting it drop.

“It was,” Rodimus squinted at his phone, “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“I forgot to press start.”

“You didn’t record it.”

Hopping on his heels as he cooled down, Blurr snorted with laughter again, and Rodimus leaned his head in onto Blurr’s shoulder to half hide his smile.

“Well that doesn’t help!”

“I kno-I don’t know!”

Rodimus’s touch tingled a bit. Blurr found himself leaning in just a fraction. The schoolyard was dim in the afternoon light, the sun beginning to revolve out of site, but it was still before six. Winter was coming and it made the sun scares. Blurr always hated that. He hated running at night, in the dark, he hated the cold, but Rodimus was here now. He was the first to pull back, letting Rodimus’s head fall forward for just a tick before he caught himself.

“Well,” he said, “now what?”

There was an odd thing about this point in their friendship where it didn’t really matter what they did, which was good because in their small town there was so little to do. Rodimus’s car made everything easier but it was still all so routine. Yet that wasn’t a bad thing. They drove around and outside the town, looking at the mountains in the distance and the town from afar. On hotter days or ones where Rodimus didn’t feel like driving too much they went into stores and wandered without aim. There was nothing particularly great in town either but something about it worked anyways. Rodimus liked the fruit aisle at the local supermarket. He claimed it was ‘Zen’, some kind of order and pattern about the food, how it was the most basic of all necessities. Blurr had heard the entire speech several times and never fully memorized any of it because it was silly in his opinion, which he outright told him, but Rodimus never cared whether he was being silly or not. Besides, even though it wasn’t really allowed, Blurr enjoyed skating on the back of the cart they wheeled around and didn’t actually use.

The most common venue of their random outings was a big supercenter of some kind, something that wasn’t local but was still probably regional because it was never a brand mentioned in the movies or books like the New Kaon Outlets or Praxus Bounty, and certainly nothing from Vos such as Wings or Red Sun Groceries.

“We don’t get name brands out here in the sticks,” said Rodimus once, pointedly puffing out his chest to show off the Wings logo on his t-shirt. Blurr rolled his optics so hard he was worried he’d strain a piston.

“You got that shirt, like, two years ago on a field trip to the space travel museum and you keep whipping it out in every possibly situation like it’s some kind of trophy but it’s just an overprices piece of cloth.”

“Chill out!” Rodimus ducked behind a rack of bargain priced jeans as Blurr jerked towards him, not actually intending to do anything. “You know I’m just screwing around.”

“No you aren’t,” said Blurr playfully, “you’re desperate for attention and you will sink as low as you need to to get it!”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

They meandered towards the toiletries aisle without any real interest. Blurr almost flinched at how powerful and sudden the wave of smells hit him, waxes and soaps and oils.

“Nothing really, but you have to own up to it or else it looks bad.”

“Oh,” Rodimus laughed, walking backwards in front of Blurr with his arms spread in a shrug, “so if I admit to being an exhaust port it becomes okay?”

Blurr stuck his tongue out.

“I didn’t say you were an,” he caught sight of a mech examining some paper towels nearby and lowered his voice, “an exhaust port, don’t twist my words like that you wingnut.”

Rodimus snorted loudly and then hopped back a step to escape a light swipe by Blurr, inadvertently running right into a rack of loofahs. It was attached to the end of an aisle line but still managed to make quite a crash as his aft unsettled the metal hooks, several loofahs and other bathing sponges tumbling down. Rodimus started but Blurr was the one who jumped like a rabbit, yelping in embarrassed horror. The mech who had been perusing the paper towels had disappeared from sight and there wasn’t anyone else in the immediate vicinity, but Blurr found himself instinctually swiveling just to be sure they weren’t in immediate danger of being caught.

“Scrap, Rodimus, be careful!”

Scolding before Rodimus had even fully recovered, Blurr rushed to his knees and began scooping all the displaced loot into his arms, still looking over his shoulders. Rodimus stumbled to the side a little, clearly not as bothered by it as Blurr was.

“Dude, it’s okay. We didn’t break anything.”

He knelt down to help but Blurr had already collected everything and stood up the moment Rodimus’s aft hit the linoleum.

“I know that I mean it would be stupid if we had broken something anyways these are sponges you can’t exactly break a sponge I mean you can tear it apart but that’s not something you’re liable to do with your rear end although what do I know _ANYways_ I don’t want them kicking us out of here for being rowdy teenagers!”

“We are rowdy teenagers.”

Speak for yourself, butter-butt!”

Rodimus had to cover his mouth with a curled hand to keep from laughing again, bracing a thumb on his cheek as if in thought.

“Well, uh, that sure is a name you just called me.”

“Shut up!”

Blurr slapped the items on the correct racks far too smoothly for the roughness of his motions. Despite it being mostly unnoticeable, he began straightening a few of the only slightly affected pieces on the display, brows knit in consternation. He wasn’t angry, and Rodimus could tell, but he was a little frazzled by the accident. Deciding it didn’t merit much more thought, he shrugged off the momentary worry and patted Blurr’s shoulder as he continued to mumble and organize, almost compulsively at this point. Blurr often straightened things when waiting in line for food or other such checkout aisle grabs; the candy shelves were rarely cleaner than after he had passed through them. It was almost unfortunately cute, something that should not have meant as much to Rodimus as it did.

It was in this moment of only somewhat pensive quiet that he noticed the approaching figure of a classmate a few aisles down. Rodimus had the kind if mind that held the faces of everyone he’d ever met. It took less than a few glimpses of her purple paint to immediately know what he was seeing.

“Blurr,” he whispered, nudging him with his elbow, “Blackarachnia’s here.”

Significantly calmer now that things were in good order, Blurr glanced up at Rodimus, then behind him, then to where he was indicating and too saw her. She didn’t see them, too distracted by something in the paint shelves she was near.

“Yes, and?”

Neither of them knew her very well, even when she had still been going by Elita One. He didn’t particularly care what she was doing in the supermart.

“I wonder what she’s looking for.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re such a stick in the mud!”

Blackarachnia had moved on down the lane she was in but they had both seen he leave and Rodimus began, without a shred of hesitation, to follow. Blurr grabbed the back of his shirt rather uselessly, following him even as he tugged back.

“What are you doing! And who even says that anymore?”

“I’m just saying hello.” He gave Blurr a look and Blurr immediately let go, a little embarrassed. “You’re really antisocial aren’t you.”

“I’m not against socialization,” said Blurr, begrudgingly following as they began to much less expeditiously continue to follow after Blackarachnia, “I just don’t see the point in going around and talking to every last person we see who we have even a passing history with.”

“Call me curious.”

They turned into the aisle she had just passed down but Blackarachnia was not immediately visible yet. Apparently whatever she had wanted was not here. Blurr felt a small splash of relief that was almost immediately retracted.

“Is that really necessary?”

She sounded annoyed. For a moment Blurr’s senses were on high again, alert, but as she wasn’t even within visual or EM range it was unlikely that her irateness was directed at them.

“I believe so, yes.”

That made both of them stop. The answering voice was as easily recognizable as it was surprising.

“Ve may not be as discreet now as ve once vere, but ze method is still viable.”

Blitzwing, the main art teacher. Blitzwing, the very aggressive and unpredictable art teacher who no one had ever really tried to imagine outside his cave of erratic paintings. Blurr turned to Rodimus with a raised brow while the other simultaneously mouthed _what the hell._

“I’m just-“and then her voice got mostly too low to hear, “…on your part.”

Surprisingly taking the lead, Blurr crept forward, placing one foot in front of the other like a cat stalking prey. Rodimus followed with significantly less stealth and more enthusiasm, grinning from audio receptor to receptor.

“Vell I don’t make ze orders, sveetspark, I just carry zhem out.”

Blitzwing, in the metal himself, stood behind peering up at a sale set of cleaning wipes as if considering them deeply, Blackarachnia beside him with her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her hoodie. Without really meaning to Blurr catalogue the contents of the cart Blitzwing was pushing (two boxes of lightbulbs that were lined with blue, meaning they were 80 watt, one bottle of red wine, several chocolate bars, a magazine on engine health, and six individually packed milk drinks), suddenly as curious as Rodimus had professed to being before and twice as suspicious. Arguing with a teacher, in public no less? Outside the school grounds? It was unusual behavior to say the least.

He briefly entertained the idea of asking Longarm about it.

“Whoa, they’re really into it, huh?”

Rodimus was right behind him and Blurr had to cram a palm over his mouth to keep from screaming.

“Shh!”

But, having picked up the cleaning wipes, Blitzwing was already moving further away from them with their peer following, whatever else they were saying lost to whispers. Standing back by what he was only now noticing to be an entire aisle of duct tape, Blurr let out an exhaustive ventilation.

“That was too close. And stupid. Why were we following them? Are we criminals or something?”

Nudging him with his shoulder Rodimus shrugged again, his latest physical tick, and said, “You’re the one who didn’t want me to just go up and say hello to her face.”

“Well maybe that was the right decision on my part even so. I mean interrupting a tense situation is never exactly fun now is it.”

“I guess.”

Wiping a bit of spare dust from his hands, Rodimus turned and looked down the way to where the two mechs had disappeared to.

“Think we can leave without them noticing?”

Blurr bit his lip playfully and, without really thinking of the symmetry between their movements, shrugged.

* * *

 

Rodimus rolled the window down and stuck his hand out.

“Woo!”

“You’re going to get that taken straight off.”

“By what? A bird” Rodimus gestured to the empty streets with the same hand.

“At the speed you’re going I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The sun was almost set now and Blurr could almost taste the edge of coolness that was preparing to fill the night. The streetlamps were flickering on one by one, giving the end of the day a rather synthetic glow. Despite his warning to Rodimus moments before, he himself allowed his fingers to graze the wind outside the passenger side door as they sped along, shuttering his optics and tapping his feet on the underside of the dashboard.

“I’ve always hated winter,” he said, out of nowhere. Rodimus made a soft noise, smiling.

“I dunno, I have a good feeling about this one.”

Blurr didn’t see him glance across the cabin to him.

“Maybe.”

Watching the passing horizon, Blurr leaned his helm on the glass.

By the time they made it to Blurr’s neighborhood the windows were beginning to light up like eyes in the night. Rodimus turned into the cul-de-sac swiftly and then parked all too fast, making them both jerk in their seats. Instead of just leaving him at the door, Rodimus hopped out, killing the engines, and walked with Blurr up the drive. Neither of them actively acknowledged it; either he was going to stay a while or he wasn’t. Blurr always finished his homework on Fridays and Rodimus wouldn’t be doing it now anyways unless it were some big project Magnus was on him about, so it didn’t really matter either way.

“Sorry it’s a mess,” said Blurr, sparing the couch a nervous glance. The freshly clean pillows looked normal as ever, but there was always a lingering fear that he’d overlooked something. Never noticing, as usual, Rodimus made a b-line for the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“There’s like one misplaced towel,” he muttered, pulling out a juice carton and shaking it, “is this still good?”

“You think I, of all the mechs you know, would keep rotten juice around?”

“Just checking!”

He plunked down on the couch, sipping liberally. Blurr stretched his arms behind his back.

“The remote’s over there. I’m going to go change, okay?”

“Slipping into something more…comfortable?” Rodimus stretched a leg out and ran his hands up it sensually, giving Blurr a sleazy wink. Blurr scrunched up his face mockingly as he backed down the hall.

“Totally. Be right back.”

He left the door ajar as he changed, throwing his shorts and tank top in the general direction of his hamper. While they were comfortable enough to wander uninhibited by awkwardness, he still felt an odd need to entertain when Rodimus was in his personal home, and the idea of him sitting out there alone, even as the soft sounds of the television turning on filtered in, left him feeling anxious. The loose shirt he slept in during the colder months was fished from his dresser quickly and he jogged down the hall again, only stopping to appear more leisurely as the light of the living room hit him.

“That was fast,” Rodimus said without turning. On the screen before him was slow turning steaks in a low romantic light.

“What’s this?”

Blurr flopped down beside him, somehow managing to still look more dignified than Rodimus had.

“Commercial.”

“What’s showing outside the commercial?”

“Dunno.”

“Is there anything else on?”

“Primus beneath us! Patience is half the game of TV, Blurr!”

And so they relaxed, browsing channels as they had browsed the aisles of the supermarket before. There was nothing much on, despite it being a Saturday night, and they just lay together and watched commercials about things they weren’t adult enough to purchase and sitcoms they weren’t young enough to find interesting. Something about the pastel suits and big glossy jewelry of the dated shows gave the living room a soft glow and lulled Blurr until he found his optics shuttering despite it only being past eight. The few times he did jerk himself awake he noticed Rodimus napping without much regard for anything, and eventually he allowed himself to follow.

It was not a true sleep, one that was punctuated by slow crawling half-dreams influenced by the still flashing television. Once or twice Rodimus shifted and he started awake again, jumpy as ever, but easily came back down again. Because of this, it took him a while to realize that the small song he was hearing was real.

He bolted straight upright, hand flying to his hip, only to remember that he had changed into his sleep shorts out of modesty and that his phone was still in the pocket laying somewhere on the floor down the hall. His legs were under Rodimus’s torso, flopped in what looked like an uncomfortable position despite his deep snoring, and he shifted them carefully, trying his hardest to escape the weight before the call ended. He couldn’t tell how long it had been ringing before he fully woke up, the stiff beeps of his ringtone not any good indication. Another pause and another ring; Blurr ripped his legs free. Rodimus fell forwards onto the couch but as his face rolled to the side it was clear it had not shaken him from his slumber whatsoever. Giving him a small smile, Blurr jumped the arm rest and bolted.

There was only one person it could be. Rodimus was the only other person who called him on his private number. The school and other community systems called the mandatory house line, which came with the commodities. His cell was his own, something he had gotten years ago just in case and only started using recently. Tripping over his own feet in his haste, Blurr knelt on the floor, struggling into the pocket of his shorts and withdrawing the small flip cell. While he didn’t recognize the number on the front screen, his spark was still turning its way out of his throat.

Backing up to close the door behind him, quietly, Blurr answered the call.

“Hello?” his vocalizer cracked with static and he winced.

“Good evening, Blurr.”

He melted against the door frame.

“S-sir, it’s you, I mean I had thought-hoped it was you, no one else really calls this, I mean, wow,” he smoothed a hand over his face, burning with embarrassment. Longarm’s chuckle sounded so silky even through the roughness of a phone line.

“Yes, Blurr, it is indeed me.”

Blurr laughed breathlessly, shaking. He shouldn’t be shaking. Longarm couldn’t even see him. Yet he was alight with nerves.

“What, um, how are you, Sir?”

“I’m quite well,” Longarm hummed, “but I am missing you, I admit.”

“Ooh,” said Blurr, hand over his eyes, “Oh.”

“Have you missed me as well?”

He was teasing. Blurr sank to the floor, crossing his legs.

“Of course I have Sir, of course I have, you don’t even have to ask that because I, I,” he cradled the phone to his cheek, “I always miss you when we aren’t together.”

“How romantic.”

He really meant it.

“I’m, I’m really happy you called.”

Longarm sighed softly, fondly. Behind the door Blurr could still hear the faint whispers of the TV, but it felt worlds away.

“I trust you’ve been taking care of yourself?”

It had only been one day since they had last passed one another in the hall.

“Yes, yeah I’ve, uh, I’ve been out with Rodimus all day. We weren’t really doing anything interesting, really, just, just dumb stuff, I guess.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed of having fun.”

“I know that!” he stammered, “I just don’t really know what else to, what else to say about it.”

“You don’t have to say anything else.”

“I mean I know I talk too much already and I don’t want to annoy you with all this blabber I mean it’s not like any of this stuff is even really important or interesting I mean you’re an, an adult and you don’t care about any of this.”

“Of course I do, dear.”

Blurr was dizzy with heat.

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better. Not that you made me feel bad or anything just that you don’t need to worry about me feeling, um, bad.”

“I don’t. I mean it. You can tell me anything you want to.”

He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them.

“Sir, that’s really, really, really, _really_ nice of you oh but Primus I’m so embarrassed I’m sorry!”

The phone was slightly dislodges from his receptor by the movement but he could still hear that melodic laugh loud and clear.

“Oh, even as just a voice, you are so cute when you’re shy.”

“Sir!” Blurr whined, smiling wide enough to hurt into his kneecaps, “sir, don’t! You’re just making it worse!”

“And you only become more precious as I go.”

“Stop it!” he was giggling now, hand cupped over his mouth to muffle the noise.

“Really, my darling, how do you manage it? I can easily picture the way you are – likely sitting, covering your mouth like you do, your optics a delightful glimmer like they are when I first slide my hand up your thigh.”

Really, he should have expected that, but nonetheless Blurr squirmed to hear it.

“I, I, oh!”

“Do you enjoy me talking of our past exploits? I think you do. You are rather naughty, despite how you act, aren’t you?”

Crossing his legs tighter, Blurr felt his bio lights flare.

“Sir! Rodimus is still over! He’s asleep on the couch but he’s right there, he’s just down the hall, we can’t!”

“Shh,” purred Longarm, “he doesn’t know, does he? He couldn’t, asleep on the couch. What’s wrong with a few dirty words?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that he is right there, right there and he could wake up and hear us at any moment and then he’d know, even if he can’t hear your voice he’d know something was going on, maybe I’d say your name, it would be awful, awful! I don’t want you or me to be in, in, in trouble!”

“Then don’t use my name, Blurr.”

“I…”

“Are you frightened?”

“No!” Blurr pulled down on the hem of his shirt, smiling despite himself as Longarm’s voice turned playful again, “I’m not scared I’m just, that’s such a dirty thing to do, having Rodimus around and you talking to me like that, you must understand that it’s embarrassing even if he doesn’t know what’s going on!”

“Of course,” said Longarm, “that’s half the fun. You certainly didn’t mind my reaching down your shorts in the classroom, despite that being public.”

“Well,” said Blurr twisting his fingers into the cloth, “no one was, I mean, I didn’t expect anyone to come in then, it was after school and the door was locked-!”

“But they could have, couldn’t they?”

He sounded so wicked, too sweet for the words he was saying, and Blurr squirmed again, knowing full well the heat in his belly wasn’t just from nerves now.

“Yes, I suppose they could have come and knocked.”

“Compared to that, this is pretty tame, is it not?”

Blurr said nothing, smiling helplessly at his knees.

“What are you wearing, my dear?”

The oldest question in the book. Shaking his head a bit, Blurr snorted softly.

“My pajamas, Sir. It’s,” he glanced around the room but couldn’t find a clock, “it’s like ten at night.”

“Ten thirty,” Longarm corrected, “What do you sleep in then?”

“Just a big shirt, some, uh, some shorts.”

“What, you sleep in your day clothes?”

“No, they’re, uh, boxer shorts.”

Longarm made a small chuffing sound down the line, something a step away from a laugh.

“Oh, I see,” he said, “is that all?”

“Of course it is! What else would I be wearing underneath my underwear?”

“Mm, I’m simply asking.”

Blurr could hear the same ad he’d heard at least five times already that night begin again, something about furniture discounts, everything must go. His fingers caught from having twisted the fabric of his shirt too much and he had to turn the other way, unspooling his hand.

“Will you touch yourself for me?”

Everything must go! Blurr shivered, so hot the air felt cold.

“Yes, Longarm Sir, yeah.”

“Good, I’m so glad.”

The praise made him glow.

“Let me guide you, if you will.” His breathing was calm, not at all like he was asking Blurr to masturbate form him. “Where is your hand now? The one not holding the phone.”

“On my stomach. I was, over my shirt I mean, on my stomach over my shirt.”

“Good, good. Keep it over your clothing, but move it down, please. Touch your panel through your shorts.”

Spark whirling madly, he did as told. Even through the cloth his panel was burning.

“How does it feel?”

“Hot. I’m really hot, Sir.”

“Ah, so you’re already excited for me, aren’t you?”

“I really love your voice,” he said, “I love how you sound, Sir, I always have and I, I get so excited even in-in class.”

“I bet you do, I bet you’re so wet after my class, hearing me speak to you like that, as if you’re the only person there.”

“I-I am!”

“Are you rubbing yourself, Blurr? Are you wet now, behind your panel?”

“Yes. Yes, yes.”

“You always do get so wet. Every time I’ve touched you, even the first time, you were just soaking, Blurr, dripping. You make such a mess.”

“I-I…”

Open your panel, Blurr. Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Touch yourself through your shorts. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m just- I’m touching my v-myself, I’m rubbing my fingers, um, up and down.”

“Over the middle, dear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Rub your node. Can you feel it through the fabric?”

“Y-yes, it’s, um, it’s a really tough texture to be doing this, but, ah-ahh-!”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes sir, it does!”

“I bet you’re already dripping through to the floor. Are you making a mess?”

“a-a little.”

“If I were there, Blurr, I would taste you. You’re so sweet. I’d love to pinch you’re nub between my fingers, roll you.”

“Ah!”

“Are you doing what I said?”

“I-I’m-!”

“Go beneath your waistband, now, touch yourself raw.”

And he did. His legs uncrossed, spreading against the carpet slowly. He was dripping, not terribly, not ruining the floor, but he was wet and he was burning.

“I-I’m doing it now, Sir, I’m touching myself beneath the, my shorts.”

“Put a finger inside.”

“Mmn.”

It was such a simple action. Were he simply self-servicing it would have felt like nothing. He shoved fingers inside himself without a thought on a semi-daily basis. Somehow, though, Longarm’s voice, his smooth hum, amplified everything. He couldn’t help but begin to curl and pump inside himself without being told, arching back against the door.

“Ah, can I put another one inside, Sir? Please.”

Longarm chuckled.

“What a good boy, asking me for permission.”

Blurr felt himself clench down, a pulse of heat making his vision glitch for a moment.

“One more finger, yes.”

He complied eagerly, pumping in deep, mortified by the loudness of the slick sounds it made. Rodimus couldn’t hear. He was asleep.

“Oh, oh Sir, it’s so hot!”

“I do love the way your calipers ripple, when I’m knuckle deep,” Longarm said, still so calm, “I love how your whole body trembles.”

Was he trembling? He could hardly tell if it were his own body shaking of the entire world around him.

“Push them in deep, Blurr. I know your fingers are not as large as my own, I know, but keep pushing, feel yourself. Are you clenching tight? I know you are. I know you’re soft and swollen, I know you wish it were me there, fingering you, don’t you?”

Bracing himself against the door, Blurr could not answer, gripping the phone tightly in hot fingers.

“Can you hold the phone on your shoulder? I want you to use both hands, Blurr, I want you to take your other hand down and spread yourself, can you do that for me? Can you spread your pretty valve wide open, perhaps touch your nub again?”

“Y-yes! Yes I can, I’m doing it for you, I, I swear.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Longarm could no doubt hear his labored ventilations, his voice fractured by pleasure. He was stupidly close, especially for someone who was barely fingering himself, hands clumsy as he tried to hold the phone steady, but Longarm’s goading him on was too much to bear.

“Sir, please, I’m so close, I, m-may I?”

“May you what?”

“May I cum?”

He felt another pulse in his valve at the words, almost shocked by how much it affected him.

“I think you may, Blurr. You’ve done very well today.”

Blurr’s back arched and he moaned, loudly, far too loudly but unable to stop himself. His engine was humming soft and vibrant inside him, peaking every few nano-kliks, his pleasure following, higher and higher.

“oh Sir, Sir, it’s very hot and and and I’m very hot and everything is so, nice, so good, with you, I do wish you were here I, I do, if you were here I’d be so happy, I’d love to, to suck your spike, Sir, to touch you, I’d do anything, I’d, ah, I would be so good toyouhhahh, please Sir I-!”

His overload made his back straighten so rigidly he slammed backwards into the door, causing it to loudly bang into its frame. For a moment though he heard nothing but static, whining softly as his valve clenched and clenched and he moved his fingers in and out so quickly it was like a small blur. By the time he returned to himself he was dazed, half tipped over against the door, and he realized that the small buzzing sound he could hear was not in his receptors but was coming from his phone, which had fallen to the floor on his right.

“I-I-I-I’m sorry! I dropped the phone!”

He was still shaking, still twitching with pleasure with his underpants around his knees, but he had practically thrown himself to the side to grab his cell phone. Longarm did not seem bothered.

“That was so nice, Blurr, very good.”

“Um, thank you Sir.”

He wasn’t exactly sure how else to respond. Now that his senses were returning to him, he felt an intense burst of embarrassment, exciting, sharp embarrassment over what he had done.

“I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“I would be more worried if you had,” Longarm said, and Blurr could hear his smile through the line.

“Well, I mean, it was really, really nice though! It wasn’t a complaint or anything when I said that. I mean I had, uh, fun and-”

Down the hall there was a shifting. It was obvious the moment it began and Blurr shot straight as a board, again knocking his head against the door, this time accompanied by a loud yelp of pain.

“What the hell was that?”

Rodimus still sounded half asleep but he was laughing again, clearly hearing Blurr’s cry. Panic set in fast and hard, the mess on his thighs turning cold.

“I just tripped!” he shouted over his shoulder, but his voice cracked terribly. The phone was still cradled to his ear and he could hear Longarm saying something. Rodimus shifted again.

“Sorry sir, it’s Rodimus and he’s woken up and-!”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

“But he’s going to see that I’m a mess he’s going to see and know I was doing something gross even if he doesn’t know about you! My life is over!”

“Blurr. Your life is nowhere near over. Simply clean yourself up. He doesn’t need to know anything.”

From down the hall, Rodimus yawned loudly, then burped.

“How long was I out?”

“I-I dunno!” then, into the phone, “okay, okay, fine, I have this, okay. I’m fine. It’s going to be fine.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Will I get to talk to you again soon?”

“I do hope so. My schedule is busy but I always strive to make time for you.”

Blurr felt his faceplates heating up again but before he could let the sentiment linger he heard the coach groan with the shifting of weight.

“Good bye Sir” he whispered, “I’ll talk to you soon!”

Longarm chuckled again and the line went dead. Blurr held it to his face for another spark beat, breathing in deeply, but the sound of springs from the living room sent him flying to his feet.

From down the hall he heard a vague, “did you drink all the juice?”

“Um, Rod?” he called, shimmying his wet boxers back up over his thighs, “I’m gonna take a shower okay?”

“What?”

“A shower! I’m gonna take a shower really fast!”

Switching off the overhead, he cracked the door and peered out into the hall. It wasn’t very long but the only light aiding Rodimus would have been the television, were he even looking. At the moment he was patting around the cushions as if he’d lost something.

Blurr dashed across the hall before he could even register Blurr’s appearance, sliding into the bathroom and shutting the door until just a crack was left open.

“Okay, I’m starting now!”

“What? I mean I heard what you said but why are you-?”

Blurr shut the door and locked it, stripping out of the unfortunately sticky boxers and his shirt and practically diving into the tub. If Rodimus said anything else it didn’t penetrate the curtain of sound the water created, and he was thankful for that. He needed a moment to really compose himself.

Never in his short life cycle had a shower felt as truly cleansing as this one. He hadn’t even gotten very dirty, not really, all things considered, but it felt like all the blame and nervousness was washing away with the spunk. His legs, he realized, were still shaking.

That being said he was in and out very quickly. Just a little soaping up, nothing too extreme, only enough to make sure all traces of lubricant were gone from his thighs and that he was clean enough elsewhere to not make their spotlessness conspicuous. There hadn’t even been enough time for steam to really build on the mirror, and he wiped off quickly. He couldn’t re-don the shorts, though, and after a moment of deliberation he opened the bottom cabinet of the sink and threw them in there for safekeeping. When Rodimus was gone held launder everything. Tomorrow was Sunday anyhow.

“Sorry about that, I just really needed to- _what are you doing!”_

Rodimus was right outside the door, something he had not expected. He’d only opened it a crack but he slammed it shut just as quickly.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Acting all skittish and taking weirdly timed baths.”

“It wasn’t weirdly timed! I needed to shower because I,” Rodimus had asked about the empty juice bottle, hadn’t he? Blurr had drank it all, but apparently Rodimus was out before it happened, “I spilled the last bit of the juice on my pants! I went to my room to change but I was all sticky and gross and I decided I wanted to shower so I did but then I realized I forgot to bring _new_ shorts into the bathroom and I wasn’t expecting you to be standing outside like a, a, a pervert waiting for me to finish up in here, okay!”

“What, seriously?” he heard something touch the wall, probably Rodimus bracing himself like he did, shaking his head like an old mech who had made a stupid joke.

“Yes seriously!” Blurr squawked, “Now don’t look unless you want a face full of my aft!”

“What if I do?” Rodimus mocked seduction.

Blurr huffed loudly.

“Are you going to let me walk out of here with some amount of dignity or not?”

“Fine, fine, fine, calm down! I’m not looking.”

 Blurr cracked the door. Rodimus was indeed faced the other direction, hands covering his optics.

“See?”

“Yes, I see,” Blurr grumbled, tugging his shirt down uselessly as if he could magically make it cover him better and slipping across the hall again, back into his room where he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Just give me a klik!”

His shorts and his cell were rather obviously misplaced on the carpet. Turning on the light for the first time, he checked between his feet to the spot on the rug where he’d previously sat and, well. Apart from some lingering heat it didn’t appear that he’d actually made any noticeable stains. Good. Kicking his phone to somewhere it’d be less of a nescience, he dug some fresh underwear out of the dresser quickly and stepped into them, feeling a little silly for having been so worried. Of course Rodimus didn’t think anything of it. Who expected something that scandalous to actually happen while they were around?

“Alright,” he stepped back into the hall, patting down his clothing, “I’m good.”

Still facing the other way, Rodimus lowered his hands.

“You’d better be. I am not in the mood for a random flashing.”

Blurr walked past him, sticking his tongue out.

“What time is it?”

“Hell if I know.”

Rodimus followed him back out into the kitchen. Now that it was nighttime it was actually quite cold, especially around the doors and windows. Blurr found himself rubbing his arms every few kliks, still a little damp and chilly for it.

“Eleven thirty?”

“Eleven thirty two, to be precise.”

Rodimus opened the fridge and stared into it thoughtfully. Coming up behind him, Blurr took the door from his hand and closed it.

“Don’t do that. You’re wasting the electricity. Also you shouldn’t eat anything after ten if you plan on getting any sleep.”

Leaning back against the fridge, Rodimus crossed one leg over the other nonchalantly.

“What can I say, I’m a rebel.”

“If you get home much later than this you’re gonna have to explain that rebel attitude to Magnus.”

Rodimus pouted.

“Party pooper.”

“So,” said Blurr, watching the numbers on the microwave flicker from 11:33 to 11:34, “are you going home are are you just gonna crash here?”

With a great sigh, Rodimus sat back and looked out the blackened window.

“I probably should. I’ve got some homework and stuff. Nothing terrible but I mean,” and he shrugged. It was clear the idea wasn’t exactly a wonderful one but that was school life.

“Yeah, I understand.”

The television flickered dull blues from the other room. The light gave everything a cool halo and, had he been looking he might have noticed the wide shapes that Rodimus’s eyes became as they looked upon him within it. As it was, he left the kitchen and turned the TV off.

In the kitchen, Rodimus pulled away from the fridge.

“I guess I’d better go then.”

It was dark in the living room now, but they could see one another’s optics clear as day. The bio lighting on Blurr’s cheeks illuminated his whole face like a portrait.

“Alright. Want me to walk you to the door?” he stifled a yawn.

“No, it’s cool.”

Rodimus dug around in his pocket and retreated. Blurr straightened the couch cushions out of habit.

“Bye!”

“Bye, dude!”

The door clicked shut. Though normally Rodimus’s swift leave would have been a little unusual, Blurr was glad for it. He practically sprinted to his bedroom again, throwing himself face down into the blankets with a little shriek. Even in his brief pass through the door he had been able to detect the lingering scent of sex and it only augmented the feeling of wicked bliss that was still pounding away inside him. Longarm’s call had been – poorly timed, perhaps, mortifying and very close to dangerous – but overall wonderful. Perfect. He’d been called so many pet names, praised so highly even if his teacher wasn’t there to see him work. The memory of it sent a small zing through hi interface array, overactive and ready for more already, but he didn’t want to sully the moment with his own personal masturbative touch when he still had the clean sound of Longarm’s laugh ringing in his receptors.

It wasn’t enough to send him to sleep immediately, as the excitement of hiding it had all but woken him up fully, but it was too late to really do much else but straighten up his room a bit and dispose of the still damp boxers in the bathroom. A little overstimulated, Blurr spent a long moment in the florescent light sitting on the countertop and ventilating slowly, counting the beats of his spark to the klik.

* * *

 

He knew it was too much for him to hope Longarm would call again on Sunday. Still, he spent most of the day eyeing his phone and pretending he wasn’t. The only activity it got was a few texts from Rodimus about homework and something he saw online, and when it got cool enough Blurr had to leave it on the bed and go for a jog. It was too much just having to wait like this for something he dint even expect.

The roads ended up leading him to school. He could have just called Rodimus since it was likely he was done with his projects by now but the weirdness of the night before still left him feeling a little anxious about it despite him having neigh expertly avoided disaster. Instead he ran up to the field himself, alone with his thoughts of things he shouldn’t think.

There was a truck gate that was always closed after school and on the weekends but it was easy to simply jump if you wanted to use the track. As far as he knew there were no rules against it; families could sometimes be seen playing here in the mornings on a good Saturday. Right now though, as afternoon turned to evening, it was vacant and green and the perfect venue for a little running away from your self-introspection. He wasn’t exactly donned in his workout wear but there wasn’t really an outfit Blurr owned that didn’t lend itself to running. The extra weight of his hoodie didn’t bother him at all as the wind dragged the cloth flat to his chest, a brisk jog the only speed he needed at the moment.

The first lap around and he was feeling calmer already. The track was elevated above the school slightly, partially because the area of town it was built on was a small incline and partially to help irrigate water when it rained so it wouldn’t become waterlogged or a field of mud. It hadn’t rained in a long while so the ground was hard packed even where the grass was growing around the track, and helped his legs propel him forward as if they were springs, cutting through the dry air.

The second lap wavered inside him however, because that time around he happened to glance down at the parking lot and saw, with a bit of a jolt, the spot he remembered Longarm’s car having been on that first evening when he drove him home. It was like his brain was begging him to be distracted by thoughts of Longarm, drowning him with them every time the smallest connection was to be found, and somehow they managed to be numerous. His actual gate did not falter but his calm certainly did, pushing him to run a bit faster as if he could leave the distraction in the dust.

The third lap was his second wind. Longarm lingered in his head but he was only a thought, only a whisper of the past, and as consuming as he could be Blurr was not going to let him in now. He lowered his head, hunched his shoulders, not the best running from but a good one to avoid nasty thoughts. The things he had already appreciated about the atmosphere of the evening still stood, the cool air, the dwindling light making watercolors on the clouds. He could focus on other things. He tried to think of one of the literature problems Rodimus had shared with him over the phone. It was difficult to read as a text message and he hadn’t been able to solve it for him. The memory made him reach for his pocket, only to realize he’d left his phone at home. The phone Longarm had called him on.

He only made it four laps before he turned around the corner and nearly fell flat on his face.

“Blurr?”

He felt like he was hallucinating but knew he couldn’t be, and that Dr. Longarm was, really, right there in front of him. Well, not right in front; he was down the slope of the raised dirt, walking past as if he had been leaving the parking lot. A cursory glance didn’t immediately locate his car, but it wasn’t too farfetched to assume he had driven up and parked while Blurr was busy shaking thoughts of lust from his head.

“I-I-I, uh, Sir!”

He shook out his hands and jogged down to where he was, immediately rebounding from shock to elation.

“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Just come in to do a little early preparation for this week,” Longarm said, smiling up at Blurr with a slight squint against the setting sun, “I certainly didn’t expect to see you.”

“and I didn’t really think I’d see you either I mean I am very glad to see you don’t take that the wrong way but to be really honest I was here because well I just couldn’t stop thinking about you after last night and I wanted to get some of the uh energy out you see so I was just running and wow here you are!”

Longarm reached up and patted his arm. It was a simple and friendly gesture, nothing at all implicative about it, but it made Blurr’s spark sing.

“Well I wouldn’t want to interrupt that. Though, if you did want to come visit me inside, I would be glad to have you. I’ll be in my-“

“o-of course I would like to come visit you I mean I wasn’t really doing anything and I can even com now if you’d like!”

He slapped a hand over his own mouth, embarrassed to have interrupted, but Longarm didn’t seem to mind.

“How nice! Well then, come with me.”

It was hard for Blurr to keep his pace slow enough to match his teacher’s. Apart from the now bursting level of energy he had, his legs were so much longer than Longarm’s and he felt a little awkward next to him, like a giraffe following a rhinoceros. Of course, Longarm had much more appeal than the rhino, but he couldn’t think of any better metaphors when he was already so addled by conflicting thoughts and desires.

Pulling a key from his pocket, Longarm opened one of the back doors and held it for Blurr, a perfect gentleman. Blurr felt himself heat, hands stiff at his sides.

“Thank you, Sir!”

He weaved back and fourth behind Longarm as they walked, fiddling his fingers together and doing his best not to babble answers to every comment or question Longarm posed. Did you get good nights recharge after I hung up? How was Rodimus? I hope it wasn’t too warm outside, I know the air conditioner is broken in my classroom. On and on it went, and Blurr let himself be immersed.

There was always something weird about seeing the classroom outside of school hours. Even seeing it outside your normal period was odd, seeing who sat where in this other arrangement, this other social environment that had structured itself entirely differently based on its inhabitants, who looked half asleep and who looked like they were taking real notes and who was choosing to instead make out in the back of the room. Now it was just empty but it still held an almost eerie quality, like he wasn’t supposed to be seeing it like this.

“You can use my extra chair, if you like,” said Longarm as he seated himself, “it’s much more comfortable than the desks.”

“Ah, thank you Sir, that’s really nice of you.”

He folded his hands in his lap neatly. He hadn’t really been expecting them to leap on one another the moment they entered the room, but he hadn’t actually spent much personal time with Longarm outside their trysts. Suddenly he was at a loss of what to do. Longarm was digging through his papers, opening a drawer in his desk to retrieve something. He seemed wholly unconcerned and it made Blurr even more nervous, like he was missing some incredibly obvious cue.

“You don’t just have to sit there, you know,” said Longarm pleasantly, straightening a stack of papers in his hands before setting them down on the desk, “I may be working but I am capable of multitasking.”

Blurr’s face flared with heat.

“I, oh, I mean, what exactly do you mean by that?”

Longarm gave him a knowing look out of the corner of his optics.

“I meant I can hold a conversation and work. I think I require at least a little self-control if I want to get these assignments prepared, but I do enjoy your company.”

Crossing his ankles and laughing weakly, Blurr looked away in embarrassment.

“o-of course that’s what I thought! I’m just, you know, not very good with these small social nuances and all that stuff.”

“I know. It’s alright.”

Longarm took out a little black pen from the mug by his monitor and uncapped it with a loud pop, scanning over the sheet in front of him. Blurr had no idea what to say. Conversations with Rodimus were playful and stupid, just lots of petty banter and talk about grades and classes. Longarm worked at the school already; surely he had no interest in the random problems of students. Not for the first time, Blurr realized he wasn’t sure how to proceed here, and looked to Longarm to lead him.

Without missing a beat, Longarm began writing down notes and said, “You and Rodimus seem to be getting on quite well.”

Remembering exactly where this conversation had gone the first time they had it, Blurr shrugged, a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Of course?”

“Well I mean yeah, yeah, we’re getting pretty close. I mean nothing too close, I haven’t told him anything or even hinted at anything that could, you know, be problematic for us in the future. But we are close!”

“That’s good.” Longarm smiled, never looking away from his work, “I don’t want him to be estranged from you – I certainly don’t want you to be alone.”

Blurr grinned a little.

“I know. I mean, I had assumed as much, I suppose I couldn’t know until you told me specifically but I figured, you’re not, you’re not so uptight or anything even if you were worried.”

Leaning back a little more as he spoke, Blurr relaxed, getting into the flow of speaking.

“It wouldn’t even be that weird for him to see me coming into class for lunch or late anyhow I mean it’s not weird to enjoy Lit or need a little extra study time, even for me. heck I don’t even think it would be so weird for us to be seen talking, in a small capacity of course, I mean just yesterday Rodimus and I saw Blackarachnia, you know, the mech with all the dark clothing and the makeup, I don’t know if she’s in any of your classes but just yesterday Rodimus and I saw her talking to Mr. Blitzwing at the store and-“

“You saw what?”

Longarm was stiff as a board all of a sudden, and looking straight at him. Blurr was taken aback.

“…yes? Yes, they were just at the grocery store and they were talking. I mean it didn’t look weird or anything. Well, a little weird; she seemed pretty mad for some reason. Maybe he gave her a bad grade or something. I never thought she was into art but I mean who really knows, right?”

“Indeed.”

Longarm had looked back to his work, but something was definitely off.

“Uhm, is there something wrong with that, Sir?”

Shaking himself out of it, Longarm looked back at him with a smile.

“No! No, no, I didn’t mean to give off the impression that there was. You’re right; it was probably a dispute for a grade. She has been arguing with many of her teachers lately, that are all. I simply worry for her academic success. She seems to have trouble with authority.”

“Mm.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be convince or not. There wouldn’t be any real reason for Longarm to lie, and Blurr himself certainly didn’t understand all the inner workings of the school, but something still seemed to be hidden behind his words. He kicked his heels against the chair, wincing at the loud clang it made.

“Well, I’m glad it isn’t anything serious-“

And then an even louder clang rang through the building. This one was not caused by his own feet, but it certainly sent him to them as Blurr leapt from his chair in shock. Even Longarm was started, looking up from his work sharply. Neither of them spoke, sharing a look.

“Www...”

That was what it sounded like, at least. The voice was distant but distinctly real. Someone was in the building. That would have been abnormal but not worrisome, if it weren’t for the sickly high tone it had, the odd, screeching, almost.

“WWWWW…”

It was closer now. Blurr started when a hand touched his shoulder. Longarm pushed him gently to the side, nodding towards the door. Stepping back nervously, Blurr let him take charge. He opened the door and peered out into the hall. Blurr could not see outside, but he did see the way Longarm’s optics widened, mouth opening just a fraction.

“Wasp,” he said, “you’re back.”

And that was all he got out before a flash of green tackled him to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid that this is it for a few weeks as I am swamped with requests to finish, but I wanted to kick you kids off with something to get you hooked! Thanks for reading.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Quarter Mile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826638) by [MercuryMapleKey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryMapleKey/pseuds/MercuryMapleKey)
  * [Bridge Over The Grind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972005) by [Hambone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone)
  * [Waist Deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979841) by [ribbonelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle)
  * [To Make You Proud](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979883) by [ribbonelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle)
  * [The Line Isn't Straight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283657) by [Hambone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone)




End file.
